


Protect Me

by xenadragon_xoxo



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-05
Updated: 2013-06-05
Packaged: 2017-12-14 01:48:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 33,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/831320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xenadragon_xoxo/pseuds/xenadragon_xoxo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Potter has spent the last seven years doing everything the Wizarding World’s saviour and Golden Boy shouldn’t – breaking it off with his childhood sweetheart, quitting Auror training, and living in isolation in Muggle London. Having just gotten out of an emotionally and financially abusive relationship, Harry hasn’t been out of his house in weeks. Meanwhile, after disappearing from the Wizarding World and moving to America for seven years, Draco Malfoy has become a famous Hollywood actor and is back in England to film his latest movie. When Draco begins to receive serious threats, he asks for a Wizard bodyguard to be assigned to him, and who should be more fit for the job than the fallen-from-grace Man Who Lived Twice himself? But can Harry and Draco set aside their differences and work together, or is this just a disaster in the making?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Protect Me

**Author's Note:**

> Author/Artist LJ Name: [xenadragon_xoxo](http://xenadragon-xoxo.livejournal.com/)  
> Prompter: morgana_fire  
> Prompt Number: 28  
> Title: Protect Me  
> Pairing(s): Harry/Draco, Ron/Hermione, past Harry/OC  
> Summary: Harry Potter has spent the last seven years doing everything the Wizarding World’s saviour and Golden Boy shouldn’t – breaking it off with his childhood sweetheart, quitting Auror training, and living in isolation in Muggle London. Having just gotten out of an emotionally and financially abusive relationship, Harry hasn’t been out of his house in weeks. Meanwhile, after disappearing from the Wizarding World and moving to America for seven years, Draco Malfoy has become a famous Hollywood actor and is back in England to film his latest movie. When Draco begins to receive serious threats, he asks for a Wizard bodyguard to be assigned to him, and who should be more fit for the job than the fallen-from-grace Man Who Lived Twice himself? But can Harry and Draco set aside their differences and work together, or is this just a disaster in the making?  
> Rating: NC-17  
> Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.  
> Warning(s): Explicit sexual shenanigans (DUH), mentions of past mental, emotional and financial abuse, a mild amount of violence, and a couple of OCs.  
> Epilogue compliant? No, but DH-compliant.  
> Word Count: 33.5k  
> Author's Notes: This story is told in third person, but from the points of view of both Harry and Draco. I didn’t actually go for any type of physical bonding, more of an companionship-bonding over time and minor things like surveillance and protection charms, but I hope you like it anyway!

_The highest form of love is to be the protector of another person’s solitude._ ~ Rainer Maria Rilke

 

The atmosphere was hectic, almost stifling, as actors and crew members alike scurried haphazardly towards their respective stations. An organized form of panic ensued as last minute touches were added to a slightly out-of-place wisp in the lead actress’ hair and a final brush of foundation powder was swiped across her perspiring cheeks. Cameramen were fiddling with knobs on their devices, crew members were hurriedly rearranging set pieces to perfection, and the blue screen behind them was looked over.

 

Draco Malfoy stood in the midst of the rush, somehow managing to avoid being run into even though he was right in the middle of the frenzied chaos. His shoulders were back and his head was held high, his figure a perfect picture of practiced poise and grace. His sleeves were rolled back in perfect folds, displaying a faint, reddish, mostly faded tattoo consisting of a serpent coiling its way out of a skull’s mouth, and he was neither smiling nor frowning, opting instead for a carefully guarded expression that was only betrayed by the look dancing in his silvery eyes. He was showcasing the same assured, if not slightly arrogant, Malfoy-esque confidence that had almost been lost in the aftermath of his troubled past.

 

“Roll sound!” the assistant director yelled, and there was a brief hush as things that had already been triple-checked were checked again.

 

“Sound speed!” someone called, most likely the sound operator, just to Malfoy’s left.

 

The assistant director gave him a thumbs up. “Roll camera!”

 

“Camera speed, hit it!” one of the cameramen shouted.

 

“Scene seventeen, take four!” another cameraman screeched. “Marker!”

 

A clapperboard was snapped in front of the camera, and, with a satisfied look in his eyes, the director gave a short, curt nod, and yelled in a loud voice that carried across the room easily, “Action!”

 

And in an instant, Malfoy was reciting lines with practised ease, his face clearly portraying the emotion required for the dramatic scene unfolding. The process appeared to be second nature to Malfoy, almost like the prelude to a wizards duel – the routine of bowing and holding his wand at the ready seemed to come almost as naturally as filmmaking did.

 

Almost, but not quite. Malfoy seemed more at home here, like this, standing before the camera, than he ever had when standing behind a wand.

 

“We’ll be right back with this extra-special episode of Behind The Silver Screen: Golden Actor’s Edition. Next up, Draco Malfoy gives us some exclusive info on his upcoming movie. Also, some never-before-seen footage from previous interviews! Stay tuned!”

 

Harry Potter leaned back on his sofa leisurely, laying his cheep trashy paperback down beside him, his brow slightly furrowed as his careful examination of Malfoy’s form was obscured by unnecessarily enthusiastic advertisements. The gears in his brain were whirring and clicking away, as they always did when it came to Malfoy, plots unravelling in his head like movies in themselves.

 

It wasn’t as if Harry hadn’t heard or seen anything about Malfoy. Truth be told, it was impossible for anyone in the living world to not know about Malfoy. His photograph was constantly in the entertainment section of local Muggle newspapers, and on most days he could be seen smirking out of the corner of pages of the Daily Prophet. Articles were written about him, with some being well-respecting comments about his outstanding work as a Hollywood actor and others being prying, tabloid rumours involving him and his latest romantic conquests involving men and women alike, which never lasted that long anyway.

 

But the news splashed throughout television screens and newsletters wasn’t nearly enough to tell Harry what had _really_ happened to Malfoy. He knew from experience that articles lied, twisting the truth to mean what the journalists wanted it to mean. Although he would like to believe that Malfoy had a change of heart and had decided that a Muggle profession was more suited to him than normal, Harry couldn’t tell for sure.

 

What Harry _did_ know about Malfoy was that he had moved suddenly to America after Lucius died. He had heard vague news about Malfoy’s sudden success as a director – apparently, he had an eye for movies. He knew, instinctively, what would become hits and what wouldn’t, and he was fantastic at portraying characters with perfection.

 

The last Harry heard from Malfoy himself was when a large eagle owl had appeared at his window and dropped a short note onto his bed.

 

_Potter,_

_Thank you._

_DM_

 

For what, Harry wasn’t sure. For forgiving him? For saving his life? For posting his wand back to him? Harry didn’t reply to the letter, and now, he would never know what the gratitude was for.

 

It was no secret that Malfoy was back in England. He had been keeping a low profile, working diligently on his latest movie which was to be filmed in Muggle London, set to be a huge box office hit. But Harry hadn’t attempted to contact him, and he hadn’t attempted to contact Harry, regarding the curt letter. It was like an unspoken agreement. Their acquaintance had run its course, and their brief moment of comradeship was up.

 

Harry’s wandering mind was jogged back to the present by the sound of the show returning. He turned his full attention on the telly, watching a trifle impatiently as a much-too-stylized male host re-introduced the show.

 

“Welcome back to Behind The Silver Screen: Golden Actor’s Edition. I’m here today with successful Hollywood actor Draco Malfoy, who has returned to his roots and is filming his latest movie, Out Of The Fire, right here on set in England. He is both co-producing and starring in this film.” The host turned, and the camera panned over to the seat opposite him, where Malfoy was sitting, posture straight but slightly casual, face carefully rearranged in a mask of professional indifference. “Thanks for coming on the show, Mr Malfoy.”

 

“Thank you for having me,” Malfoy replied, his voice too cool to be friendly, but too polite to be cold. Harry noted that the forefinger of his right hand was tapping lightly on the arm of his chair – a nervous habit Harry had noticed back at Hogwarts. Despite all appearances, Malfoy wasn’t completely as at home in front of a camera in an impromptu, unscripted setting as he was when he acted.

 

“So, tell us a bit about this movie you’re working on.”

 

Malfoy shifted in his seat, adopting an air of practised ease, although his finger continued to tap. “I can’t reveal much, but it is basically a story of redemption – the main character has made mistakes in his past, and is hoping to be accepted by the people he has wronged.” He crossed his legs in an impossibly formal manner, appearing nonchalant, but Harry picked up on the subtle hints of nervousness – he hadn’t spent his entire sixth year watching Malfoy for nothing. “Although it sounds rather cliché, I do like where it is going so far and I believe it will relate to the general crowd.”

 

“I understand that you chose to accept the leading role in this movie because it resonates with some personal experiences of yours.”

 

Malfoy hesitated – minutely, but still an audible pause – and stated diplomatically, “I believe the movie is everyone’s story. All of us seek redemption in some way or other, have done thing we wish to undo.”

 

Harry leaned back in his seat, recognizing the signs – Malfoy was dodging the question, avoiding giving a straight answer. Harry knew this not from his obsession in sixth year, but from his Auror training, when he studied interrogation techniques. It was a sign of guilt.

 

Malfoy didn’t _look_ very guilty, though. Not with that familiar cool air of I’m-so-superior-and-you-are-all-beneath-me. He didn’t seem nearly as arrogant as before, but modesty was definitely not a characteristic of Draco Malfoy.

 

A commercial popped up then, and Harry turned his attention towards his blinking answering machine. He hit a button, and a message began to play.

 

“HEY HARRY! IT’S ME!” boomed Ron’s unnaturally loud voice, quite literally yelling into the receiver.

 

“Ron!” Hermione’s voice chided, sounding exasperated. “How many times have I told you that you _don’t_ need to shout? He can hear you just fine!”

 

“Right, sorry. Anyways, Harry, I’ve been calling you all day on the fellytone –”

 

“Telephone –” Hermione interjected.

 

“Whatever the case, I’ve been trying to get you on this bloody Muggle device, and you haven’t answered _once_ ,” Ron said, sounding mildly irritated. “Hermione’s been worrying about you again –”

 

“You were _just_ as worried as I was –”

 

“Look, mate, it’s just that we haven’t heard from you in a week, and we just wanted to check if you’re alright.”

 

“Yes, Harry. Are you eating alright? No one’s seen you in a fortnight, and we’re just concerned. Look, Harry, we know it’s been tough, but you can’t spend the rest of your life cooped up –”

 

“Hermione, there really isn’t a need to upset him –”

 

“I’m _not_  upsetting him, Ronald, I’m expressing my anxiety for his well-being!”

 

The sound of a kettle boiling whistled in the background.

 

“Oh, the water’s done,” Hermione muttered, and then there was the sound of receding footsteps.

 

Ron’s voice dropped to a whisper. “I’ve never seen anything half as mental. Why can’t she just use _magic_ , for Merlin’s sake?”

 

Harry rolled his eyes at his best friend’s complaints. Although Ron often griped about Hermione’s nagging and her pushiness, Harry knew Ron loved her more than anyone else in the entire world. It had taken lots of prodding and a bit of intervention before Ron finally managed to work up the nerve to take the witch out on a proper date. Now, the pair was engaged, and Harry had to admit, all that build-up had been worth it – he had never seen his two best friends happier. He had been sort of happy, too, he seemed to remember. But all that changed after...

 

Ron started speaking, jolting Harry out of his thoughts. “There was this awful case at the Ministry today. Some bloke thought it be fun to attempt to be the new Dark Lord and started throwing badly-invented curses at random Muggles in the street. It was a nightmare, mate! The entire Auror office was in chaos!” Pause. “You could always come back, Harry. Complete your training. You know Kingsley would kill to get you back in action. He’s already forgiven you for quitting.” Another pause, this time more awkward, as Harry recalled the many times that Ron had tried to get him to go back. But Harry knew he couldn’t, not like this. He didn’t have what it took to be an Auror, or to work for the Ministry. That fact had been illustrated to him enough times.

 

“Anyways, Harry, this Saturday night, Dean, Seamus and I are going to grab a drink at the Leaky. You should come down, you know, catch up a little. I’m looking forward to seeing you there, mate. I’m just a little worried that Hermione won’t let me out of the house.”

 

“I heard that!” Hermione called from somewhere.

 

“I didn’t _say_ anything!” Ron shouted. “Blimey, Harry, she’s mental, I’m telling you. Anyway, err...yeah. Catch you later. Take care, alright, mate?”

 

A soft click signalled the end of the message. Harry chuckled mildly at his best friends’ antics, then moved on to the next message.

 

An all-too-familiar voice began to speak from the machine, and Harry bit his lip in half-dread.

 

“Hello, Harry,” the voice said, a rich sort of tenor that Harry had grown accustomed to over the past few years or so. “It’s Adrian again, but I guess you already guessed that. I noticed you’ve been ignoring my calls. I really need to talk to you, explain a few things. Please, call me back.”

 

The line went dead.

 

The only sound that echoed around the room was the telly, running an advert on lotion.

 

Harry’s finger hovered over a button, hesitated, then pressed down on it.

 

“Message deleted,” the machine beeped.

 

Harry refused to think about what would happen if he called Adrian back. He already _knew_ what would happen, to be honest. He had never been able to fully escape Adrian’s spell. Despite no longer really wanting him in his life, Harry couldn’t deny having fallen pretty hard for him. It hadn’t been love, no, not by a long shot, but it had been nice all the same.

 

Adrian seemed ideal, at first. He was funny and confident, wasn’t a member of Harry’s extensive fan club, and was willing to keep their relationship under wraps because Harry wasn’t comfortable with the idea of coming out of the closet just yet. He was an aspiring actor – Harry had watched a few of his audition tapes and found him even more attractive when he played dark, brooding characters. He wasn’t lacking in the looks department, either – perfect brown hair, pitch black eyes that still maintained a certain warmth about them despite their slight emptiness, and good-looking, smooth features that were well proportioned and could easily show passion, anger and lust all at once – the perfect picture of the typical tall, dark and handsome fellow.

 

In hindsight, Harry should have known better, especially when Adrian started asking to borrow money. Harry had never been stingy, and had willingly given him what he said he needed. But fifty Galleons once every few months turned into a hundred, and a hundred turned into five hundred, and Harry knew he had to say no.

 

Harry remembered clearly the day when he decided to put his foot down. He Apparated home early from his lunch with Ron and Hermione when he found out that Adrian had spent the two hundred Galleons he borrowed on something that was hardly even worth the money. He had arrived to discover that the front door was unlocked. Drawing his wand, trying not to imagine the worse, he had stepped into the hall, glancing around covertly, searching for signs of an intruder.

 

And then he found Adrian fucking some other guy on the couch. On _his_ couch.

 

That had been four months ago.

 

Thus began the tiresome pattern of ignoring phone calls, turning a deaf ear to knocks on the door, and being fussed over by Hermione. Ron had come by once or twice to check on him. The last time had been two weeks ago.

 

“Are you...over him yet?” Ron had asked.

 

Harry thought it over. “I’m better,” he had allowed. “I’m not...you know... _there_ yet. But at least I’m on my way.”

 

Harry emerged from his sea of thoughts then, as the Behind The Silver Screen special came back on. Briefly, he glanced back up at the TV, mildly surprised to see Malfoy laughing at something the journalist had said. Smiling made people look far more attractive, he realized.

 

Harry shook his head. It wouldn’t do to get all obsessed over Malfoy now. One long year of insanity regarding the Slytherin had been enough. He would not become infatuated all over again by nothing. Last time he had done that, he had nearly gotten Malfoy killed. Summoning the remote wandlessly, he switched the channel, flicking through the different boring programmes.

 

As he landed on a safe, harmless documentary, Harry pondered his predicament. He was nothing, he now realised, like the Golden Boy so many had expected him to continue being. He hadn’t married his childhood sweetheart, he hadn’t shown his face in the Wizarding World in three months, and he was currently out of work. So much for being the role model for the next generation.

 

But Harry knew he had never been the type to be a role model anyway. Adrian had mentioned that many times, which was why he had quit his Auror training.

 

_“I mean, no offense, Harry, but you just aren’t the Ministry-serving type. I don’t think an Auror job would suit you.”_

 

And Adrian was right. It was one of the few things Harry knew was the truth. All he could do now was try to make things right again, but that was proving to be a very difficult thing to do.

 

Annoyed with himself for thinking about it, Harry reached down, picked up his sappy, cliché paperback, and continued reading. At least, in books, there was always a happy ending.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Draco exhaled loudly as he stepped into his dressing room. It had been a long, hard day. They were two scenes behind schedule, and he felt as if he hadn’t played his character well enough today – it was nothing like he had envisioned. There was always, he thought, some form of crisis before the project could be completed. Usually, he was willing to go through the crisis for the betterment of his film, but perhaps having a panic attack over his supposed failure to portray what he wanted would be pushing it a little.

 

A sigh escaped his lips. If he didn’t love his damned job so much, he would consider himself crazy for even undertaking it. Oh, his father must be rolling in his grave right now to see him in a Muggle profession.

 

There was a knock on the door. “Parcel for you, Mr Malfoy.”

 

“Come in,” Draco called coolly. He was used to getting gifts from adoring fans and people who called themselves his friends, and he didn’t really care much for them. These people meant nothing to him. Truth be told, despite all his fame and his great charm with women and fantastic luck with men, he only had a couple of real friends – namely Pansy Parkinson and Gregory Goyle, the only friends he had from Hogwarts who didn’t completely shun him. While he’d had lots of luck gaining support in America, many of his old acquaintances in his home country still didn’t approve of ex-Death Eater scum like him. In fact, that had been Draco’s main concern in returning to England – the number of Wizards who still disliked him was really quite alarming. Ever since he’d returned to London, he’d been getting constant threats in the form of hate mail and the more severe items from joke shops (which were very hard to dispose of in the presence of Muggles).

 

_Malfoy: Drop dead._

_To the big-shot actor, if you do not leave England immediately, you will regret it._

_Once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater. You’ll never be good enough._

Draco didn’t take any of them too seriously. They were cowards, he reasoned, with no guts to state their opinions to his face or even leave a name at the bottom of their thoughtful little notes. Highly uneducated as well, he supposed, to believe that loathsome words would get them anywhere in life.

 

Still, Draco had managed to make a few “friends” out of English Muggles who simply thought his faded Dark Mark was an artistic American tattoo and were delighted to make the acquaintance of a highly-acclaimed actor. It disturbed him a little, he had to admit, how much Muggle women were taken by him. Pansy said it was because he was “mysterious” or something else like that, but he wasn’t buying it.

 

The door swung open and one of the many runners on set approached him with a large, brown box. He nodded at Draco nervously, as many of the staff often did, and placed the package down on a free space on the desk.

 

“Thank you,” Draco said, and the nervous boy nodded, then turned and took off.

 

Draco picked up his wand, waving it over the parcel and muttering a few detection spells. There didn’t seem to be anything dark within it, but Salazar knew that if it was another joke shop contraption, he would probably lose it.

 

Well, might as well get it over with. With a flick of his wand, the box unsealed itself and fell open. For a few seconds, nothing happened, and Draco was satisfied, thinking it was simply another one of his fans sending love letters or something.

 

And then flames shot out of the box.

 

Draco let out an undignified yelp and leaped backwards, brandishing his wand frantically. “ _Aquamenti_!” he yelled, but his aim was off – he missed by several inches. “ _Aguamenti_!” he tried again, and this time, the wave of water conjured from the edge of his wand met its mark. He stepped back, relaxing slightly, but instead of extinguishing, the fire flew towards him, and Draco’s eyes widened in horror. It was only at the last second that he came to his senses and waved his wand again. “ _Portego_!”

 

The shield was erected not a moment too soon. The flames collided with it and spread out around it, engulfing his vision with embers. Draco was about to consider himself done for when the flames dissipated, fading slowly away from him and falling in weak little wisps to the floor. Slowly, he lowered his wand. His entire body was shaking, shivering in fright.

 

Draco thought he had mostly gotten over his fear of fire, which he had acquired from his unfortunate encounter with Fiendfyre during the Battle of Hogwarts, but apparently not. It had taken months for the recurring nightmares of being surrounded by flames to cease, and years before he could bring himself to use his fireplace during winter. Perhaps he hadn’t moved on as well as he believed.

 

There was another knock on the door. “Is everything alright, Mr Malfoy?”

 

Ah, that was his personal assistant, Vanessa. At least she neither hated and feared him nor worshiped the ground he walked on. And she wasn’t a Muggle – merely a Muggleborn who had lived in America for majority of her life. Here was an admirable young witch – Draco hadn’t hired her for no reason.

 

“I’m fine, thank you,” Draco responded coolly, in that tone of voice that clearly stated he wished to be left alone, and usually sent people running from his presence whimpering in terror.

 

Not Vanessa, though. She laughed, instead. “Whatever you say, sir,” she chuckled, and Draco heard her high-heeled footsteps pace leisurely away.

 

Draco stepped towards the box, intending to throw it away, when he spied something lying in the bottom of it. Cautiously, he picked it up. It was a note.

 

_Hello, Draco Malfoy._

_I know you probably receive lots of these things, every single day. But I’m not like the others, and I will show you why._

_This is not a hate letter, oh no. Hate mail is foolish, and stupid, and full of empty threats. This letter does not have a single empty threat in it. Every threat is alive and real._

_I hope you got my gift alright. It took a good lot of concealment charms to successfully hide the enchantments I placed on that fire, but I’m sure it was well worth it._

_If you value your life, and that of your friends and family, you will remove yourself from Europe as soon as is possible. I understand your work – you have many more scenes to shoot here. I will be patient, because no one can possibly fathom the extent of professional affairs more than myself, but be aware that with every passing day you spend here, your seconds are ticking by and your time is running up._

_Tick tock, Mr Malfoy._

With trembling fingers, Draco put the note down. He was a great many things, but he was not stupid. Whoever had sent this message knew him well enough to know he would be terrified by fire. This person meant business.

 

Pressing a button on his intercom, Draco spoke, unable to keep the tremor out of his voice, “Vanessa.”

 

She replied instantly, sounding cheerful although Draco knew she could hear the shaking in his tone. “Yes, sir?”

 

“I need you to send an owl to the Ministry of Magic. Tell them I’m in need of a bodyguard.”

 

“What’s happened?”

 

“Nothing of importance.”

 

A snort. “Right. I’ll get it done right away. Shall I tell them you’ve been receiving threats?”

 

“Yes. Thank you, Vanessa.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Harry awoke with a start. Someone was knocking on the door lightly, almost imperceptibly, as if they were using a pen instead of their fists. Annoyed, Harry sat up groggily, his brain still foggy. He glanced at his watch – only seven o’clock in the morning. Who in the name of Merlin would be calling on him at this time?

 

“Hang on!” Harry snapped as he groped around blindly for his glasses. The tapping didn’t cease. “For fuck’s sake, I’m getting there!” he called, but it still didn’t stop. Shoving his spectacles on, Harry got to his feet and rushed to the door, undoing the locks and flinging it open.

 

No one was there. But still, someone was tapping.

 

Oh. The window.

 

 _Wow, I’m an idiot_ , he mused to himself as he stumbled over to the source of the noise. He was a _Wizard_ , for crying out loud. Anyone else would’ve instantly realized that there was an increasingly impatient owl trying to get in his window.

 

Harry pulled back the curtains, and sure enough, a professional looking tawny owl was sitting on his windowsill, repeatedly tapping its beak somewhat insistently against the glass. Harry pulled on the latch and the plane opened, the owl flying in instantly, landing on a chair, and holding out its leg.

 

Sighing, Harry walked over and undid the knot, sliding the letter off its foot. The owl took off without a moment’s pause, and soon disappeared from sight.

 

Harry glanced down at the envelope he now held in his hand and instantly felt his heart sink. It had the Ministry seal engraved in wax on the back. He groaned. The last time he had gotten one of these, it had been an invitation to the Annual Wizarding Ball (held in commemoration of all those who had perished and all that had been lost and gained in the War), and Harry’s decision not to attend had let down and disappointed several people.

 

Harry prised off the seal and pulled out the piece of parchment within the envelope, frowning. He was extremely surprised when he saw that the letter wasn’t in official format, nor was it written in opulent, perfected script, but in more of a hurried scrawl.

 

_Dear Harry,_

_Please report to the Ministry immediately. I’ve adjusted the wards in my office. There is a favour I would like to ask of you that would well benefit us both._

_Kingsley_

His brows furrowed, Harry read and re-read the letter until the words stopped making sense. Finally, his curiousity built up and he decided that he might as well go and see what Kingsley, the current Minister of Magic, wanted.

 

He got dressed hurriedly, not even bothering with his hair anymore, and focused on Kingsley’s office. Gripping his wand tightly in his hand, he turned on the spot, and was instantly consumed by the familiar tightening sensation throughout his body. He hadn’t Apparated in a month or so, and the feeling was as uncomfortable as ever.

 

Nevertheless, he must’ve gotten it right as the Minister’s office swirled into view before his eyes. Kingsley, who was sitting at this desk, watched him calmly, as though scrutinizing his very appearance. “Harry,” he said, his voice warm but businesslike. “Please have a seat.”

 

Harry sat down stiffly, shoving his cold hands into his pockets as he did so. “Morning, Minister,” he said politely.

 

If Kingsley noticed the forced formality, he didn’t comment on it. “Harry, are you at all still interested in pursuing a career as an Auror?”

 

The question took Harry aback. If he had been called in to get a lecture on his current state of joblessness, he wasn’t interested. Leaning back slightly, he asked, “Why?”

 

“Because the Ministry requires your services,” Kingsley replied simply. “We would, of course, ask this as a favour, but if you expect something in return, I’d be glad to allow you to resume your training without resitting the interviews and written tests.”

 

“I really don’t expect any –”

 

“I knew you wouldn’t, Harry, but this isn’t a small thing I wish to ask of you,” Kingsley cut in brusquely.

 

Harry slumped back into the chair, starting to dread this. “How bad could it be?” he grimaced.

 

Kingsley inhaled slowly, then exhaled. “We need you to be a bodyguard.”

 

“Oh.” Well, that wasn’t so bad.

 

“For Draco Malfoy.”

 

_What?_

 

“I...” Harry stared at Kingsley, at a complete loss for words. “But...” He gulped, struggling to process all of this. “Why does he need one?”

 

“He’s been receiving some serious threats lately,” Kingsley explained. “He sent us a very...err...demanding owl last week. When we didn’t immediately reply, he marched right into the Ministry and caused quite a scene.” He buried his face in his hands for a brief moment. “Look, I know this is a lot to ask of you, especially due to your history with him, but –”

 

“Why me?” Harry interrupted, because that was what was bothering him the most. Surely there were more competent members of the Wizarding society who _didn’t_ have issues with Malfoy who would be up for the job _and_ free Auror training.

 

“Because all our Aurors are tied up in important cases,” Kingsley replied. “I can’t spare any of the Ministry officials for such a...well, not to say petty, but more of a low priority job. But I can’t just send anyone in, that person must be qualified. And you’ve gone through majority of the training sessions, so technically, you’ll be able to do the job and deal with any situations that may arise – I give you permission to.” He cleared his throat. “I know it’s a lot to ask of you, but the Auror training is all I can give you in return, apart from what he pays you. The offer remains open for as long as I am Minister.”

 

“And what exactly does being his bodyguard require?” Harry asked, furrowing his brow in contemplation.

 

“The usual – accompanying him to work, keeping fanatical fans at bay, making sure he isn’t killed. He’s also requested that his bodyguard reside with him at his lodgings for the duration of the job.”

 

“Are you kidding me?” Harry moaned, burying his face in his hands.

 

“It’s a big Manor,” Kingsley said soothingly, almost pleadingly. “And reports say he isn’t unbearable.”

 

“That’s a big help,” Harry sighed. Kingsley sounded desperate, and it wasn’t like Harry didn’t need a break from the monotonous routine of his everyday life. At the same time, though, it was _Malfoy_. He wasn’t interested in seeing the git again, much less spending days upon days with him. “Does he know it’s going to be me?” he asked.

 

Kingsley shook his head. “I thought it best not to inform him until you agreed.”

 

Then that would be a nasty shock for Malfoy. Harry wouldn’t like to be around to see his reaction. This whole idea clearly screamed “bad idea”. They’d never been able to get along, and Harry might end up killing the prick himself.

 

And yet, there was that _curiousity_ there, lingering at the back of Harry’s head. Despite himself, he couldn’t help wanting to know what had become of Malfoy, and how he was living his life. Harry couldn’t stop himself – maybe the obsession had never really died down.

 

“Harry?” Kingsley called to get his attention – he must have spaced out. “What do you say?”

 

Despite himself, Harry felt himself nod. “Alright. I’ll do it.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

The compound of the large manor was silent as Draco stepped out of it that morning. The sky was overcast, sending a certain sense of foreboding spreading throughout Wiltshire.

 

It was a miracle to Draco that he and his mother had been able to spend a little under a month in the Manor together without any arguments ensuing. Although he loved his mother very much, and as glad as she was to have him back, there was a great deal of tension in the air that had yet to be resolved. Unspoken questions hung in the atmosphere wherever he walked. Why had he left? Why had he chosen now to return? Why hadn’t he written?

 

Questions that Draco really didn’t have the answer to.

 

Gathering his notes, Draco glanced at the clock. He only had to leave for the set in a half hour – no sense rushing it – but he was feeling nervous and jumpy. Perhaps it was due to the fact that he hadn’t slept well ever since he was sent those damned flames in a box.

 

There was a knock on the door then, but Draco ignored it. A house elf would get it anyway.

 

Sure enough, a few seconds later, there was the sound of the door being swung open, and professional-sounding voice stated, “We require Mr Malfoy’s presence.”

 

The house elf seemed to stammer. “Master Malfoy does not like visitors,” she squeaked nervously.

 

“It’s alright, Blinky,” Draco called, pacing calmly towards the door. “I’ll take this –” He paused when he came into sight of his visitors, eye widening when he saw who was at the door. One was obviously a Ministry official of some form or other, but it was the other who really caught his eye – a raven-haired, bespectacled man who looked remarkably like...

 

“Potter?” Draco exclaimed, taking an involuntary step back before he could stop himself. “I don’t understand,” he said coolly. And indeed, he didn’t. In fact, not understanding was an understatement. Never in a million years had he expected _Potter_ of all people to be standing at his doorstep.

 

“Good morning, Mr Malfoy.” It was the Ministry official who spoke, his robes billowing around him as he stepped into the Manor without invitation. “I believe you requested a bodyguard?”

 

“Yes, I did,” Draco replied, feigning indifference, but he could feel the puzzlement beginning to show on his face.

 

“Then there will be no complications?” the official went on, in the most infuriatingly formal manner.

 

“I suppose not,” Draco said with equal formality. “Then you are to be my bodyguard?” He wasn’t sure if he could handle such an intolerable man ushering him around.

 

All of the official’s stiff, forced formality was gone in an instant. He let out a harsh little laugh, as though amused by the very idea. He smirked to himself for a good near minute before the professional facade slipped back on. “I’m afraid I’m a little too...err...invaluable to the Ministry to be given such...simple assignments.”

 

Draco opened his mouth to say something scathing, but Potter beat him to it.

 

“There’s no need to be rude,” he said quietly, and Draco caught a flash of something like impatience in his green eyes, although his expression remained pleasant and his tone was slightly good-natured, as though he was trying to pass off his annoyed remark as a joke when it was clearly anything but. Then he glanced up at Draco, who was overcome by a sudden wave of something or other when that expressive gaze landed on him. “ _I’m_ the one they assigned to be your bodyguard.”

 

Draco must have allowed some trace of surprise to flicker across his face as he stared at him incredulously. Not sure what else to say, he went for the coldest response. “But you aren’t even an Auror.”

 

Potter glared at him. “I went through majority of the training. I know what I’m doing.”

 

“You can’t _possibly_ be serious,” Draco shot back, not understanding. All he had asked for was a bodyguard, not the fucking Chosen One. “You simply aren’t certified for this.”

 

There was that flash of anger again as Potter replied smugly, “I was the only one willing to protect your arse. It’s me or no one. Take your pick.”

 

Draco narrowed his eyes, feeling a familiar fire fuel his blood, the same way it always did when Potter pissed him off significantly. As he did so, he realized that the man had definitely changed very much since he had last seen him seven years ago. No longer was Potter the skinny, scrawny Seeker he remembered. He had filled out considerably – Draco could see the muscles rippling beneath his long sleeves as he crossed his arms – and modernized his stupid glasses to those with a slightly square frame. Of course, his hair was still a mess, but it had a sort of charm to it now – Draco was torn between the desire to brush it into obedience and run his fingers through it furiously, unlike all those years ago when he had simply wanted to chop it all off.

 

The Ministry official cleared his throat in an annoyingly Umbridge-like way. “Well, Mr Malfoy, Mr Potter here will be your bodyguard for as long as you require his services. Do not hesitate to contact the Ministry if you encounter any...err...problems with him.”

 

“I will,” Draco replied stiffly, refusing to offer thanks.

 

The Ministry official bowed once, then turned and walked off down the drive. Draco watched him cautiously until he was safely out of sight, then turned his attention to Potter, who was eying him appraisingly. “Like what you see, Potter?” he smirked.

 

Potter rolled his eyes. “Look, Malfoy. We’ve both grown a lot over the years. I think we can get past our differences and act like mature adults.”

 

Draco continued to smirk, turning away but still watching Potter out of the corner of his eye. “You’ve aged mentally over the years. Perhaps your intelligence isn’t nearly as questionable as I believed.”

 

“I didn’t come here to be insulted. I came here to work for and with you,” Potter responded. “If you have any issues with that, I can leave.”

 

Draco glanced away, slightly bothered by Potter’ maturity, and did not respond.

 

“Right.” Potter sounded a little uncomfortable. “So, what sort of threats have you been getting?”

 

“I don’t believe it’s of your concern,” Draco replied.

 

Potter heaved a long-suffering sigh. “Look, I’m supposed to protect you, aren’t I? How can I do that if I don’t know what I’m up against?”

 

Draco frowned. Although he had to admit to irrationally trusting Potter, he wasn’t quite ready to tell him about the fire yet. “It’s merely a precaution,” the Slytherin stated. “I’ve been receiving typical hate mail lately, and it’s escalated at quite an alarming rate. I simply thought it wise to hire a bodyguard, although I have to admit that isn’t going to help me much, seeing as it’s you.”

 

His insult went ignored, which bothered him considerably, as Potter responded instead, “Really, Malfoy. We both know that a bunch of letters isn’t going to drive you off your high horse. Why did you hire a bodyguard? What pushed you to that extent?”

 

Well. Potter seemed to know him a little better than he expected him to. Perhaps he had done his research before showing up. “As far as I’m concerned, there was nothing more threatening than that. As I said, it is a precaution.”

 

For a second, it looked like Potter was going to argue, but then he seemed to change his mind. “Alright then,” he said dismissively, although it was clear from the tone of his voice that he didn’t believe a word of Draco’s explanations.

 

Draco cleared his throat. “Would you like a cup of coffee? I was about to have one myself.”

 

The Gryffindor looked slightly taken aback, but he nodded. Potter had always been a very readable person, Draco noted. Every single emotion showed clearly on his face, or at least passed through his expressive eyes. It had always been like that, even back at Hogwarts, which had been the main reason that Draco had liked to pick on him back then – his reactions were exquisite to a bored teenager.

 

Potter followed him to the kitchen, where Blinky was charming plates to float back into their cabinets. “Does Master Malfoy be needing anything?”

 

“No, thank you, Blinky, I’ll take it from here,” Draco replied. He had become quite accustomed to making his own drinks while he was in America, and found he quite enjoyed the Muggle way of brewing coffee – it was far more satisfying.

 

“Two –” Potter began, sitting down on a wooden chair.

 

“ –sugars and a splash of milk, I know,” Draco cut in. At Potter’s instantly puzzled, suspicious look, he added briskly, “We went to school together for seven years and spent most breakfasts glaring daggers at each other when we thought the other wasn’t paying attention. It would reflect poorly on my observation skills if I didn’t know simple details like that.”

 

Potter accepted his mug with a small, unsure smile. “Thanks,” he said, as Draco took a seat opposite him. He took a sip, sighed appreciatively, and asked, “So what have you been up to lately?”

 

Taking a swig of his drink to allow himself time to contemplate an answer, Draco recognized the attempt at civility. He almost wanted to laugh at how forcibly polite Potter was being. Although the newspapers hadn’t had many nice things to say about him recently, it was quite clear that Potter was still very much a Gryffindor at heart. But Draco also knew there was intention hidden behind the simply question – Potter was curious.

 

“Well, lately, I’ve been making movies,” he drawled. “I’ve become an actor of sorts.”

 

Potter shook his head, but he looked amused. “You know that isn’t what I meant.”

 

“Then, pray tell, what _did_ you mean?” Draco asked, feigning innocence. “Your communication skills simply _must_ be improved, Potter.”

 

Once again, the insult went unacknowledged. “All you’re telling me is what I already know from the media,” Potter stated. “I want to know what’s been happening with _you_.”

 

Draco smirked. “I must admit, that is a flattering notion, Potter. When did all of this concern about me begin?”

 

“It isn’t concern,” Potter replied, and Draco could see he was getting annoyed. “I’m just trying to make small talk here.”

 

“I prefer intellectual conversations,” Draco responded. “Not meaningless chatter.”

 

“You must not have that much fun,” Potter noted. “Or many meaningful chats.”

 

“No,” admitted Draco.

 

There was a short silence as the pair sipped their respective drinks. Draco watched Potter absentmindedly, thinking about all the things he had read in the Prophet about the former Chosen One. It was true that not many good things had been said – he had broken up with the Weaselette, dropped out of Auror training for no apparent reason, lived in Muggle London and had been without a job for a very long time, almost never venturing into the Wizarding side of England. The last story the Prophet had published on him was regarding his refusal to attend the Annual Wizarding Ball, and that had been a good three months ago. Draco would have never expected the Weasel and Granger to get so much more out of life than Potter, but stranger things had happened.

 

“What about you, then?” Draco asked. “What have _you_ been getting up to these days?”

 

Potter raised an eyebrow. “I thought you weren’t much for small talk.”

 

Draco shrugged. “Indulge me.”

 

Potter grimaced. “You don’t want to know what I’ve been doing.”

 

“Why is that?”

 

“It’s...a long story.”

 

“Make it short.”

 

Another flash in those green eyes, this time of something that Draco couldn’t quite make out, and then Potter let out a short sigh. “I’ve been...learning.”

 

Draco had to admit, it was probably the most accurate description of what they had all been doing for the past seven years. “Not bad, Potter,” he drawled.

 

Potter watched him for a moment, then nodded. “Thanks.”

 

They finished their drinks at the same time, and Draco levitated them to the sink. The tension had diffused considerably, although it was still semi-tangible, and there seemed to be a professional truce about them, at least for the moment. “We should leave now,” he said.

 

Potter gave another nod. “Sure.” He paused, then grinned, adding, “Boss.”

 

Draco smirked, then held out an arm, causing Potter to glance at him quizzically. “Work, Potter. I have to get to the set, and I’m going to bring you there by Side Along Apparation. Ever heard of it? It’s when –”

 

“For fuck’s sake, I get the picture,” Potter snapped, grabbing hold of his outstretched arm.

 

Smirking, Draco pictured his set, the place he had grown accustomed to. It was funny how he considered that place more home than the Manor.

 

“Better not let go, Potter,” he said, and, once he was certain he had all his D’s in his head, he turned. The pair vanished in a wisp of magic and the slightest whisper of wind.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Harry glanced around the set, his eyes wide as he took it all in. Needless to say, he had never been on one of these before, and he had to admit, he was impressed, although he tried very hard not to show it as he was led around on a self-indulgent tour by Malfoy himself.

 

“And _this_ is where the magic happens,” Malfoy was saying as he led the way into an elaborately constructed set that was one of the rooms of the protagonist’s house. “Every single one of these was tirelessly done by hand,” he added, indicating the carvings along the side of a window. “We have about thirty sets for the different scenes. We try not to use blue screens or too much CGI, hence the immense number of props we have to make.”

 

Although it was clear that Malfoy was showing off for his sake, Harry could quite easily see the obvious passion that Malfoy had for his work. Every once in a while, his eyes would sparkle almost animatedly, and he would lose track of his inhibitions and get rather excited in his explanations. It was those moments that Harry appreciated his tour the most. It always helped when the tour-guide was as enthusiastic about what he was showing you as he wanted you to be.

 

The tour came to a sudden end when a young-looking brunette with a clipboard in her hand approached them. “Hey, Mr Malfoy, most of the crew’s arrived! Where’ve you been?” Her voice was mildly cross, as if she were an impatient but indulgent mother, although she was probably younger than them.

 

“I was showing my new bodyguard around,” Malfoy responded, in a most offhand manner that would have seemed rude and intimidating to most.

 

But not to this girl. She chuckled, then turned her attention to Harry. Up till now, Harry had simply assumed that she was a Muggle, but that wasn’t the case at all, as her jaw dropped instantly upon sight of him. “Is that...” She stared at him, wide-eyed. “Sir, you never told me that _Harry Potter_ was going to be your bodyguard.”

 

Malfoy frowned, but a small smile tugged at his lips a second later. “Please, Vanessa. You’re inflating my bodyguard’s already bloated ego.”

 

“Hey,” Harry interjected mildly, but there was no venom in his complaint.

 

“After a tour from _you_ , it’ll _need_ boosting,” Vanessa scoffed. “Anyways, we’re ready for you, Draco.”

 

Malfoy nodded, a sign of dismissal, and the girl skipped merrily off – which was quite a feat in her four-inch stilettos.

 

“My personal assistant,” explained Malfoy.

 

“I like her,” Harry chuckled.

 

Malfoy shot him a warning glance, and Harry realized his mistake – no one knew he was gay, and Vanessa was rather attractive. Malfoy was probably quite protective over this young witch, seeing as she was his only link to the Wizarding world.

 

“Not in that way,” Harry snapped, trying to sound annoyed but failing ultimately as his voice came out defensive.

 

Malfoy cocked an eyebrow in an impossibly sensual but amusing manner, nearly causing Harry to laugh out loud. He stopped himself just in time. He was about to mention something about not really liking females in general to console the blond and stopped himself again. Although it was no secret that Malfoy was bisexual, as many Purebloods were, and that he would understand, Harry wasn’t sure how he’d react to his homosexuality.

 

The problem with being stuffed in the closet, Harry mused, as he followed Malfoy elsewhere, was that the secret seemed to _hurt_. It was as if it grew each and every single day that it stayed locked within him. But the fact remained that Harry was by no means ready to tell the world about it.

 

He wondered briefly if Malfoy and the Vanessa girl were involved intimately – the Slytherin was clearly popular with the ladies. Harry had spotted piles of fan mail on Malfoy’s desk when he was shown the dressing room, and everyone who didn’t live under a rock knew perfectly well how Malfoy was one of the most eligible bachelors in Hollywood. If he was being honest with himself, Harry would say that he was impressed.

 

Malfoy cleared his throat, and Harry glanced up, breaking out of his thoughts, to see him smirking. “As a bodyguard, I would expect that you kept yourself out of Dreamland, Potter. You can hardly be capable of protecting me when you aren’t even on Earth.”

 

Harry gritted his teeth. It was incredible, how easily they’d fallen back into their old dynamic of rivalry. “I’d much rather be out of Earth than here, forced to spend my days protecting you, thank you very much.”

 

Malfoy laughed then, and it was an actual, crystal clear laugh. Remembering his earlier observations on how smiling made people more attractive, Harry was instantly astounded by how much better _laughing_ made someone look.

 

Shaking his head, Harry removed the thought from his mind. It was time to get serious and focus on the task at hand.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Harry honestly hadn’t been this tired in a long time. Following Malfoy around on his hectic daily tasks had proven to be rather challenging. His walk was brisk, his demands were loud enough to deafen and he was swarmed by paparazzi everywhere he went. Although it felt like a cold place, Harry was actually glad to get back to the Manor at the end of the day.

 

Malfoy showed him to his room – it was situated right next to Malfoy’s own, just in case someone made it through the wards and decided to attempt to kill him in his sleep.

 

“The Ministry sent over your luggage while we were at work,” Malfoy said brusquely as Harry’s trunk came zooming towards him, stopping with a screech at his feet. “This room will be yours until we’re done filming, or at least until I get the good sense to fire you. Try not to break anything.”

 

Harry rolled his eyes. “Not very hospitable, are you? Where’s the ‘make yourself at home’, and the ‘if you need anything, don’t be afraid to ask’? Doesn’t being a Pureblood come with a handbook on proper manners?”

 

Malfoy ignored the bite behind the jibe. “Alright, if you insist,” he sighed self-righteously, and he bowed mockingly. “Please don’t make yourself at home – I don’t want you to get used to luxury. If you need anything, please don’t bother me with it, as I have much more important things to do than satisfy your needs. Ask Blinky for assistance and she will attend to you willingly, as I have ordered her to, because none of us can really be bothered.”

 

Dropping his trunk on top of a chair, Harry scowled, “Anything else I need to know?”

 

“I’ve adjusted the wards so you can Apparate in and out without getting Splinched,” Malfoy informed him. “You should also be aware of the fact that all guests must sit with their hosts at dinner. Although Mother rarely turns up anymore, it is still proper protocol, and we must respect that.”

 

Harry wondered now how Malfoy’s relationship with his mother was. He hadn’t gotten the chance to speak to her yet, and probably wouldn’t bump into her anytime soon, seeing as she lived in the West Wing of the Manor, and they were in the East. “Am I allowed to leave to take a walk or something?”

 

“Yes, of course. I’m not _that_ defenceless, you know. As long as we’re in the Manor, you are free to come and go as you please, although I’d rather you put up an alarm ward or something to alert you if something should go wrong.”

 

Where did all this paranoia come from? “Okay.”

 

Malfoy nodded. “Any questions?”

 

“Not now,” Harry replied.

 

“Then I’m going to retire for the day,” Malfoy announced. “Feel free to take that walk.”

 

Harry gave him a small smile. “Thanks. I think I will.” He paused, then added, “Night, Malfoy.”

 

Malfoy looked at him oddly, then ducked his head. “Goodnight, Potter.”

 

The door closed behind the Slytherin, and Harry turned away to start his thorough investigation of the room. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Malfoy – for some inconceivable reason, he did – but Malfoy had been in America for a long time and probably wouldn’t know if there were any Dark artefacts in the room. Muttering a few spells, Harry examined everything until he was satisfied with his own safety. If he was supposed to protect the prick, he had to be protected too.

 

Harry unpacked with his wand, flicking it absent-mindedly as items flew into the closet or folded themselves more neatly before placing themselves in drawers. Despite being exhausted, he _did_ want to go for that walk. He turned towards Malfoy’s room and set up the security alarms Draco requested. Grabbing one of his many cheap paperback novels and thinking of the park he always went to when he wanted to be alone, Harry closed his eyes and Apparated.

 

The wards did indeed let him through, and before Harry knew it he was striding blissfully through the trees. He loved it here – everything was so serene and quiet, just like he needed it to be. He was glad he had never tainted this place by taking anyone here with him. This was his quiet time.

 

Except...

 

“Harry? Harry! Is that you?”

 

Harry groaned inwardly, half out of annoyance and half out of pure dread. Gritting his teeth, he felt his heart beat accelerate in anticipation for whatever-the-fuck was going to happen next. Slowly, he turned towards the source of the oh-so-familiar voice, and plastered a smile onto his face. “Adrian,” he said quietly.

 

Adrian hadn’t changed much since when Harry saw him a couple months ago by accident, when they saw each other at a coffee shop. Yes, he was still the epitome of sinful – dark eyes boring into Harry’s with fierce...something. Harry couldn’t tell what it was – it wasn’t passion, but it wasn’t anger either. He had never been very good at reading Adrian’s emotions. Despite all the time they’d spent together, Harry still felt as if he didn’t know him. At all.

 

“It’s...nice to see you,” Adrian said quietly.

 

Harry didn’t reply to that, instead changing the subject. “What are you doing here?”

 

“I was meeting up with someone. We had some business to discuss.”

 

Harry would bet a million Galleons that said _business_ involved stripping naked. “That’s nice.” Harry wasn’t sure why he had even dignified that with an answer. It was hard to stop himself when it came to Adrian.

 

“What about you? What are _you_ doing here?” Adrain questioned, gesturing at him mildly.

 

“I’m taking a walk, clearly.”

 

If Adrian noticed the spiteful tone in Harry’s voice, he didn’t give any indication that he had. “I went by your house earlier. You weren’t in, and someone said you’d gone somewhere for a while.”

 

“I did,” Harry replied, but his voice didn’t come out as coldly as he’d expected it to. _We aren’t together anymore. I don’t have to tell you what I’m doing with my life._

“Oh? What for?”

 

There it was – that judgemental tone that Harry had always hated, because it made him feel so small. “I’ve been temporarily employed by the Ministry,” he remarked, trying but failing to keep a hint of pride from his voice.

 

Adrian’s eyebrows shot up. “The Ministry? I thought you decided you were done with them.”

 

 _No,_ you _decided I was done with them._ “I guess I was wrong, then.”

 

“Huh.” Adrian made the most committal non-committal sound Harry had ever heard. “Anyways, you haven’t returned any of my calls.” He made a little pout.

 

 _That’s because I don’t want to._ “I haven’t? I must have already been out and busy. Sorry. I’ll get to that when the job’s done.” Harry nearly slapped his forehead when he realized what he had said. Why had he apologized? Adrian didn’t deserve it.

 

“Look, Harry, we really need to talk about...about us.”

 

 _Here comes the bloody storm._ “What’s there to talk about?” _You cheated on me. You used me._ “It’s over.”

 

“No, it’s not. Look, here me out.”

 

A loud beeping started to sound and Harry’s wand glowed bright red. His eyes widened. The security alarm he had left back at Malfoy’s had gone off. What...how...?

 

Harry glanced up at Adrian. “I have to go. Duty calls.”

 

“I’ll call you. We can meet up for lunch or something. Please, I just want to talk, I want to fix –”

 

But Harry didn’t know what it was that wanted fixing, because he was already gone.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Draco let out a yell as a raven broke through the wards, sweeping unhurriedly over his room and cawing loudly, leaving a bright orange trail of fire behind it. Drawing his wand, he aimed a curse at it, but that only caused it to grow slightly bigger and let out an even more agitated caw. “Fuck,” he swore, brandishing his wand as threateningly as he could. The raven swooped easily around him, flew up to the ceiling, and then dove right at him. Draco was fairly certain that he was about to die when the raven paused. For a second, Draco was confused, then he realized that he could feel a slight pull in the magic surrounding him – someone was trying to get into his room.

 

In an instant, the raven burst into flames and fell to the floor, quickly dissolving from ashes to nothing but wisps of smoke, and Draco heard words echo into his head. “ _You’d better leave here before, you are never, nevermore.”_

Draco froze instantly, but his entire room was clear. It was almost as if nothing had happened at all. All traces of the raven were gone, but that wasn’t what terrified Draco the most. What really scared him was the fact that he had been reading that exact piece of Muggle literature by Edgar Allen Poe just yesterday at the movie set. It was no coincidence. Someone was watching him.

 

And then Potter Apparated into the room with a _pop_ , his wand held aloft and at the ready. His gaze swept the room once, with Auror-like precision, and when he detected nothing on sight, his wand performed a series of complicated spells with impressive speed. Draco briefly wondered why this man hadn’t completed his training when he was clearly gifted in the field of work.

 

“What happened?” Potter snapped, looking mildly annoyed as he noticed nothing out of the ordinary.

 

Draco swallowed. “Nothing. I was about to go to bed, and you came barging in here like a maniac.”

 

Potter watched him carefully for a moment, clearly sensing something amiss, perhaps by his body language or some nondescript flicker in his eyes. Again, Draco blamed the Auror training. “You’re shaken,” Potter noted. “Something got in here.”

 

Draco raised an eyebrow, attempting to appear indifferent. “I don’t see how you could draw that conclusion.”

 

Potter rolled his eyes. “You asked me to set up security wards if I went out, remember? Something set it off.”

 

To be honest, Draco hadn’t expected Potter to comply to his wishes, seeing as he had given him no good reason to be constantly on his guard. He watched Potter, noting the flushed face and the heavy breathing in the other man’s features. “You’re rather shaken yourself,” he stated nonchalantly. “Have some interesting adventures on your little walk, Potter?”

 

To Draco’s delight, the Gryffindor turned bright red. “Don’t try to change the subject,” he cautioned.

 

“I’m attempting no such thing,” Draco smirked. “Now, are you going to depart, or shall I let you have my room?”

 

Sheathing his wand, Potter shook his head, looking suddenly tired. “You know, Malfoy, I can’t really protect you if you don’t tell me what I have to protect you from.”

 

Draco’s smirk widened. “You can’t always save people, Potter.”

 

Potter quirked an eyebrow, probably taking in the contradiction of being hired as bodyguard and then promptly being told that he couldn’t do the job. After a moment, he shrugged and said, “But you have to, if they’re depending on you.”

 

In a gesture of defeat, Draco laughed quietly and shook his head. “I don’t like depending on people. They leave all the time. Can’t trust them with anything,” he stated matter-of-factly, so much so that confusion began to form on Potter’s face. “All that you can put your trust in is yourself.”

 

“And if that isn’t enough?” Potter asked.

 

“It has to be,” Draco replied.

 

An odd look crossed Potter’s face, then he shook his head and smiled almost sadly. “Goodnight, Malfoy,” he said, and then he was out the door.

 

Draco stood and stared at the solid wood of the portal for a few moments, considering what he had said. He was used to saying whatever he wanted now – his influence among men and women alike made them practically worship almost every word that left his lips – but he hadn’t thought about how much he would be revealing in such a simple statement, especially to a trained almost-Auror like Potter, who wasn’t nearly as ignorant and oblivious as he had been at Hogwarts – the man had since grown up. It didn’t hurt that he was far more attractive, too.

 

Draco sighed, shaking his head. Clearly, he was exhausted, or he wouldn’t be thinking such ridiculous little thoughts.

 

Sinking down onto his bed, Draco spelled the lights off and closed his eyes, already feeling himself start to drift off. It had been a long day.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Harry didn’t sleep much that night. Perhaps it was because he was in a new, somewhat colder environment than he was used to, or perhaps it was simply due to the fact that his run-in with Adrian bothered him subconsciously, but one thing was certain – Harry’s mind was extremely preoccupied. He turned the puzzle that was Draco Malfoy over and over in his head, wondering what the man was hiding. The slightly frightened state of the Slytherin been clearly etched in his eyes, although he hid it well with an impassive expression. Harry never had been able to sleep when the gears were turning in his head, and let it be said that he hadn’t outgrown his love of mystery and adventure. He yearned to know the truth.

 

But morning came swiftly, and as he lay staring at the ceiling, he still hadn’t come up with anything.

 

There was a knock on the door at about six o’clock, and Harry sat up. “Yes?” he called as he pulled his shirt on.

 

“It is Blinky, sir,” a squeaky voice said.

 

“Door’s open,” Harry called, and the door swung forward slowly, revealing the shy-looking elf.

 

“Blinky is to be telling Harry Potter that breakfast is almost ready.”

 

“Thanks, Blinky,” Harry yawned, getting up.

 

“Master Malfoy is also wanting Blinky to give you this,” Blinky added, handing Harry a rather large brown box. “He is saying it is important for you.”

 

Curiousity suddenly overcoming him and successfully removing all previous signs of drowsiness, Harry took the package from her feeble arms and nodded his thanks. Blinky bowed and Disapparated with a pop.

 

Harry unwrapped the box, realizing that it was probably dumb of him not to perform a few cautionary charms over it first but not caring because he was still feeling irrationally trusting of Malfoy, and nearly rolled his eyes at what he saw within it. Clothes.

 

Sighing, Harry pulled out an assortment of pieces of attire, laying them out on his bed until the box was empty. There was a note stuck to the bottom of the box, which Harry read:

 

_Potter,_

_Seeing as you’re now my bodyguard and I will have no choice but to be seen with you for the next few months, I will simply not tolerate your questionable taste in fashion, and I insist that you wear what I have selected for you instead. If you turn up to work in them, there is an actual chance that you will be taken seriously. Perhaps, for once in your life, you will look presentable._

_Malfoy._

Harry put the note aside and moved to investigate the items he had received. Each one looked extremely expensive and well-made. Experimentally, Harry pulled one of the jackets on. It fit him perfectly, so well that it was as if they had been tailor-made specifically for him. Frowning in slight suspicion, Harry waved a wand over them and found that they were each fitted with an Altering Charm, one that would automatically cause outfits to shrink or expand to one’s body size. It was quite ingenious and had been done rather well, and Harry couldn’t help but be momentarily impressed by the skill with which the charms had been performed.

 

After a quick shower, Harry looked over all his options. He wasn’t really very good at picking out his own clothes, although his time with Adrian had taught him what matched, so he was always able to pull off a presentable appearance. Today, though, seeing as he was still rather peeved about bumping into Adrian the previous night, he picked out a shirt in green – a colour that Adrian always told him not to wear – and donned it hurriedly, pulling the long sleeves over his lithe arms and buttoning it down quickly. Getting into a pair of black trousers that almost felt like silk, he grabbed a random jacket off the bed, put his shoes on and left the sanctuary of his room for breakfast.

 

The smell of sausages and pancakes emanating from the kitchen was incredible, and Harry felt his mouth water. When was the last time he had actually had a proper breakfast? He couldn’t quite remember.

 

“Master Malfoy is waiting in the dining room,” Blinky informed him as she Hovered plates and sent them zooming across the room. “He is inviting Harry Potter to join him, but is saying it is alright if Harry Potter has other matters to attend to.”

 

Harry nodded in acknowledgement. As crappy as his mood was, he still wanted to find out more about Malfoy, and discover what it was the man was hiding from him. He might as well join him.

 

Feeling a little uncomfortable in his new clothes, Harry made his way to the dining hall, praying that this day would go easy on him.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Draco sat at the table, absentmindedly munching on some toast. He hadn’t slept well the previous night, his dreams turning to nightmares of fire and slowly consuming him, a raven cawing his eminent doom. He was used to horrific dreams, but the fact that Potter might hear him crying in his sleep frightened him slightly, although he wouldn’t admit it.

 

Draco wasn’t sure how Potter would take his little gift – knowing the Gryffindor, he would probably rebelliously ignore his suggestions and arrive at breakfast in the same grey t-shirt and jeans Draco had seen him in just yesterday. Not that Potter looked bad in them – quite the contrary. Now that his mind was clearer, Draco was aware that Potter was immensely attractive to him, and that was alright. Draco had experienced several one-night-stands in America. If he saw someone he found interesting, he bedded them, and they didn’t do it again. Simple.

 

Draco was used to getting what he wanted. People weren’t an exception. Now if _only_ Potter wasn’t as straight as a broomstick.

 

 _Speak of the Dark Lord_ , Draco thought to himself as footsteps approached in a slightly hesitating tempo. Looking up from his morning newspaper, he glanced in that direction, his gaze searching until they landed on Potter himself, and his jaw very nearly dropped. He barely managed to compose himself before Potter noticed him and smiled.

 

“Morning,” Potter greeted.

 

Draco nodded briefly and sharply, not trusting himself to speak. Potter hadn’t gone the rebellious route, oh, not at all – he was dressed in the clothes Draco had carefully provided for him, and he looked far more attractive now than he had before. He was donning a dark jade green long-sleeved button-down which nearly matched his eyes and brought out their stunning colour, even behind the glasses, and he had picked out a black pair of slacks that fit him so well it would probably be hard for people not to ravage him in the street. Slung over Potter’s arm was a jacket that Draco recognized as the best of the clothes Draco had sent him, and it was definitely fortunate that Potter hadn’t put it on yet, or Draco would have probably started drooling.

 

Potter seated himself directly across Draco. “Not much of a morning person, huh?” he asked, a hint of teasing in his voice.

 

“Perhaps it is being forced to see your face this early that has put me out of a good mood,” Draco shot back, trying to sound irritated.

 

“Thanks for the wardrobe makeover,” Potter said, ignoring the jibe, and Draco detected a small amount of sarcasm in his grateful words.

 

“You needed it. I refuse to be seen going about my business with a hobo trotting merrily at my side,” Draco returned.

 

“Whoever said I’d be _merry_?” Potter snorted. “Besides, I don’t see how this is much of an improvement. It’s just a slightly fancier outfit.”

 

Draco put down his newspaper and pretended to scrutinize Potter’s attire, although he had already done so previously. After a few moments, he reached for the paper again. “You’ll do.”

 

Potter chuckled. “Not to worry, I tried very hard not to look too impressive. I’ve been told that this colour doesn’t quite suit me.”

 

Draco nearly choked on his coffee. Who in their right mind would ever tell Potter such a _lie_? Even if Draco had been straight, there was no denying what wonders the colour did to Potter’s already good-looking features. “The person might have been visually impaired,” Draco noted mildly, hoping he didn’t give too much away.

 

A surprised sound was released from Potter’s lips. “You’re being truthful,” he said, sounding utterly bewildered.

 

“Is it _such_ a rare occurrence that you must announce it as such?” Draco drawled, a little annoyed now.

 

“No, it’s not that!” Potter said hurriedly. “I just...didn’t expect it.”

 

Draco felt his mind begin to whirl. He didn’t know what to say – Potter sounded so genuine, and Draco was struck by how he _liked_ that display of honesty in Potter. In an instant, the Slytherin’s articulate manner had somewhat deserted him, and he was at a loss, so he did the only thing he could. He took a final bite of sausage and stood up. “I’ll be waiting in the main hall. We have to leave in half an hour.”

 

And then he made his escape.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Harry watched, interested, as Malfoy paced briskly away from the table, his coffee only half-touched, and quirked an eyebrow. The Slytherin was quickly becoming more and more of an enigma to him as he pondered everything that had happened since he entered the dining room.

 

First, of course, had been the quick raising and lowering of Malfoy’s eyebrows when he entered the room, a gesture that he probably hadn’t even realized he was doing. Harry knew what that look meant – it happened when the eye saw something pleasing – but it was gone so soon that Harry wasn’t completely sure if it had even been there in the first place. Still, Harry carefully filed the fact away in a safe part of his brain, to be retrieved when needed.

 

Then, there was the fact that Malfoy had practically _complimented_ him, and in a way he hadn’t expected at all. It wasn’t the kind of compliment that was actually meant for praising oneself, like, _oh they fit you well,_ which would only imply that Malfoy’s well-cast spell was working, and not that Harry looked above average. It was an actual, genuine comment, and Harry had detected no signs of deception whatsoever in his tone or body language. Malfoy honestly believed that the colour suited Harry.

 

And _there_ was another thing that confused him. Adrian had been completely adamant that green simply wasn’t Harry’s colour. What on earth could Malfoy’s statement about the fact that he looked alright in it mean? Despite months and years spent attempting to unravel the secrets of Malfoy’s psyche, he was left with even more mysteries to solve.

 

That’s when Harry realized, _holy fuck, I think about him a lot._

 

Sighing, Harry finished the remainder of his pancakes and got up to leave the table, pulling his jacket on as he went. It took him a little while to find his way to the front hall, but when he did, Malfoy was leaning against the wall and reading another copy of the newspaper which he had gotten from somewhere.

 

Deciding not to disturb him, Harry leaned against the opposite wall and watched him for a moment. Although he didn’t visibly move, Malfoy tensed under the scrutiny, as if he realized that Harry was there and was simply trying to ignore him, although he was probably still at least semi-focused on his reading because he turned the page after a few moments.

 

Harry was considering what to say that wouldn’t get him Stunned when his mobile phone rang, and he instantly regretted selecting a Taylor Swift song as his ringtone.

 

Malfoy glanced up, looking mildly amused. Harry fumbled with the buttons and hurriedly brought the device to his ear.

 

“Hello?” he said into it, trying not to sound too annoyed.

 

“Harry, so glad you picked up.”

 

Harry tensed, instantly cursing himself inwardly when he realized that in his state of embarrassment, he had forgotten to check the caller ID. Gritting his teeth, he turned away from Malfoy and hissed, “Adrian. What do you want?”

 

“Come, now,” Adrian chuckled. “It’s the first time you’ve picked up my call in months. You shouldn’t sound so annoyed.”

 

Adrian was getting the wrong idea. “I was distracted. Purely accidental,” Harry snarled.

 

“Don’t be so feisty, it doesn’t become you,” Adrian replied smoothly. “Why did you run off on me yesterday?”

 

Harry massaged the bridge of his nose. “I had more important matters to attend to. My work, for one.”

 

Adrian sobered up immediately. “We talked about this, remember? The Ministry is just using you as a _poster boy_. We both know that you’re no more qualified than anyone else to take their jobs, and they clearly just want to use you.”

 

 _Like you did?_ “I’m not interested in what you have to say. Last time I checked, it was my life, not yours.”

 

“Alright, I’m sorry. I’m just... _worried_ for you, that’s all.” Adrian cleared his throat. “About that lunch I talked about…”

 

“Sorry, I have to go,” Harry said hurriedly. He would be no means entertain the idea of a meal with Adrian. “Bye.” Without waiting for a reply, he hung up quickly.

 

Malfoy was staring at him with a mixture of curiousity and pity on his face. Harry didn’t want to see it, so he looked away.

 

Thankfully, Malfoy spoke before things got too awkward. “Tacky ringtone,” he remarked.

 

Harry shrugged. Being pretty much the stereotypical gay, he enjoyed cliché songs of heartbreak and romance almost as much as he loved reading corny paperbacks. As much as it freaked many people, even Ron, out, Harry couldn’t help what he enjoyed.

 

“Love songs,” Malfoy sighed smugly. “Why do people even write them?”

 

“Music says what words can’t, I guess,” Harry replied slowly, not sure how his words would be taken.

 

Malfoy turned a sharp eye on him. “When did you become such an intolerable sap?” he questioned, feigning disappointment, a good-natured glint in his eyes.

 

Harry was glad that Malfoy hadn’t brought up the embarrassing, stilted phone call, but the statement still mildly annoyed him. “Well, clearly, the rest of humanity are,” he retaliated. “That’s how these songs sell.”

 

Malfoy snorted at that, causing Harry to respond defensively.

 

“What? You don’t believe in humans?” Harry snapped.

 

Looking suddenly sobered, Malfoy shook his head. “I believe in humans, sure, but I don’t see any humanity anywhere.”

 

There was so much truth in that one statement that Harry was taken aback. To distract himself, he glanced at his watch. “Shouldn’t we get going?”

 

Malfoy smirked. “What is this, Potter? Are you developing a passion, a sort of eagerness, perhaps, for filmmaking? Or is this just you trying to escape the situation?”

 

Harry gritted his teeth. “Can we _go_ now, please?”

 

Malfoy chuckled. “Oh, I don’t know, Potter, can we?”

 

That was that. Harry’d had enough. Having memorized the Apparation logistics, he turned on the spot and was gone.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Draco had to admit that riling up Potter was fun, although he didn’t appreciate Potter running out on him like that.

 

“That wasn’t very nice, Potter,” he drawled when he emerged next to his bodyguard.

 

“You were irking me,” Potter replied stonily.

 

Draco allowed his features to soften into a smile. “Come on, now, I was joking. Mustn’t damage your pretty face with such a glare.”

 

Potter cocked an eyebrow, looking incredulous. “Excuse me?”

 

Draco rolled his eyes. “Surely you know that I swing both ways. A bit of harmless flirting isn’t shunned by your narrow mind, is it?”

 

A small shrug, then, “So you find me attractive?” Potter questioned, his eyebrow getting even higher, so much so that it was in danger of disappearing beneath his messy hair.

 

Settling for a mild form of honestly, Draco managed to stop himself from blushing. “Let’s just say that I visually enjoy you,” he offered.

 

And then Potter smiled, an actual, genuine smile. Draco felt a little funny in his stomach right about then. “Thanks, Malfoy. You’re not too bad yourself.”

 

“Don’t let it get to your head, you insufferable Gryffindor,” Draco admonished warmly. “Now come on, we have work to do.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

As Harry stood out of the way at the edge of the set as Malfoy filmed a heartwarming scene, he couldn’t help but feel grudgingly impressed. Malfoy was clearly talented and a professional. There was no doubting the genuine manner with which he acted – this man had found his forte.

 

Harry was also still thinking about Malfoy’s little compliment regarding his appearance. He had never considered himself particularly handsome in anyway – since childhood, he had only ever been the scrawny, skinny boy with geeky glasses whose clothes never quite fit right, had hair that looked like it was permanently windswept and had a weird-looking scar. Being with Ginny hadn’t changed that fact, because he knew Ginny had a crush on the idea of his celebrity, and not the actual person he was inside. And Adrian…well, let’s just say that Adrian had never made him feel particularly above average.

 

“Cut!” the director yelled. “Take five!”

 

Malfoy wiped some sweat off his face with the back of his hand in a manner that could only be described as sexy, and came over to stand next to Harry. “What do you think, Potter?” he asked with a smirk gracing his lips. “Did I pull that one off alright, or should there be more emotion in the character?”

 

Harry recognized that Malfoy was genuinely concerned about his performance, otherwise he wouldn’t have asked. “It’ll have to do,” he replied smoothly, before turning back to his book.

 

Malfoy eyed the cover curiously, and then a mild look of disgust crossed his features before he snatched the paperback out of Harry’s hands with Seeker-like reflexes.

 

“Hey!” Harry snapped, trying to grab it back, but failing as Malfoy held the book high above his head. The prat was still taller than Harry.

 

Malfoy turned the book over in his hands, pushing Harry’s protesting arms away, and squinted at the description. With a snort of revulsion, he tossed the book back to Harry. “Romantic novels, Potter?” he drawled cockily. “First corny love songs, now corny little paperbacks? I always knew your intelligence was questionable, but this is too much.”

 

Annoyed beyond belief, Harry growled at him. “What’s wrong with a little light reading?”

 

“I never read that rubbish,” Draco declared, with an air of someone superior hanging about him. “I’d never be a good actor then, if my head was filled with such mush.”

 

“Then, pray tell, oh Mr High-And-Mighty,” Harry snapped, voice thick with sarcasm, “What _do_ you read?”

 

Malfoy tapped a finger to his forehead. “Classics, Potter. I read classics.”

 

Harry couldn’t believe his ears. “That’s just dumb!” he proclaimed.

 

“Are you challenging my intelligence?” Malfoy demanded, taking a step closer. They were now in dangerously close proximity, and Harry could actually feel Malfoy’s breath on his face.

 

Harry avoided answering the question directly, instead turning away to avoid flushing from the sudden heat he felt pooling somewhere within him that had absolutely nothing to do with the frustration Malfoy was making him experience. He wanted to take a step back, because there was plenty of room behind him, but his pride wouldn’t let him. He felt the familiar fire that always burned in the pit of his stomach when Malfoy riled him up coursing through him, and his heart raced. “You’re so rule-based,” he snarled. “It’s a wonder you ever made it in Hollywood.”

 

For once, Harry had the satisfaction of seeing Malfoy’s usually pale, expressionless face turn red, his lips pursing in anger. “What are you implying?”

 

Another step closer, a fraction of an inch, and Harry couldn’t breathe anymore. “I’m not _implying_ anything!” he yelled, still refusing to step away. “I’m just saying. You can study classics, sure, but you can always write your own rules.”

 

For the briefest moment, Harry thought Malfoy was going to hit him, and he knew that if they stood like this for one more second, Harry would give in to his need for space and back away. But then, just like that, _Malfoy_ was the one to step away. He smirked a little, most signs of hostility gone. “Every now and then, Potter, you surprise me,” he said.

 

“Alright, everyone, back to work!” the director yelled.

 

Malfoy turned and walked away without a single word, and Harry was left standing confused as ever.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

It was late that night when Harry got a call from Ron and Hermione on his cellphone.

 

“HARRY!” bellowed Ron enthusiastically, and Harry instinctively yanked the phone away from his ear. “IT’S BEEN SO LONG SINCE YOU’VE BEEN CONTACTABLE! WE – ”

 

“ _Ron_!” reprimanded Hermione. “How many times must I remind you – you don’t have to shout, he can hear you!”

 

“Oh,” Ron murmured, sounding befuddled. “I’ll never get how these things work.”

 

“If you’d just _listen_ to me once in a while –”

 

“Hi guys!” Harry cut in hurriedly. “What’s up?”

 

“Oh, hey Harry,” Hermione said tiredly, sounding quite as if she had rather forgotten Harry was there and was now embarrassed. “As Ron was about to say, we dropped by your house earlier and you weren’t in. There was an Auror hanging around and he told us you’d gone to work with the Ministry.” There was a hint of disbelief tainting her voice.

 

Blimey, had he forgotten to inform them of his current job? “Oh, right,” Harry grinned sheepishly. “Kingsley was in desperate need of a bodyguard to work for them, and I’m almost qualified, so he thought I’d be up for it.”

 

“Kingsley needs a bodyguard?” Ron piped up, sounding intrigued. “Figures, he’s always trusted you the most…”

 

“No, not for himself,” Harry contradicted. “Just for some…celebrity or other.”

 

“Bloody hell, Harry,” Ron exclaimed. “You could’ve at least _told_ us.”

 

“Maybe he can’t, because the person he’s staying with the person he’s guarding and their location is classified,” Hermione reasoned, once again acting as the mediator, although Harry detected slight accusation at her tone. She didn’t like being left out of the loop.

 

“I’m sorry,” Harry admitted. “I should’ve told you. I just wasn’t sure how you’d react.”

 

“So it’s classified?” Ron asked.

 

 _Here comes the storm._ “No,” Harry responded.

 

A few second’s silence, then: “Well, out with it, mate.”

 

A longer silence as Harry struggled with himself.

 

“Harry, you can trust us. You know we won’t spread the word,” Hermione soothed.

 

“It’s…Malfoy.”

 

This particular silence was so long that Harry had to make sure the line hadn’t been cut off. As always, Ron was the first to react.

 

“ _Bloody hell_!” he cried out, and this time Hermione didn’t even scold him for the volume of his voice.

 

Another brief pause.

 

“Harry, you know I trust your judgement,” said Hermione slowly, as if she was carefully calculating her every word. “And I’m really glad that you’re doing something productive with your time, even if it’s only for a while, but… _Malfoy_? Are you sure, Harry?”

 

“He’s alright now, you know,” Harry replied, a little irritated. “Not too bad a bloke. We’ll never be bosom buddies, but we can tolerate each other.”

 

“Harry…”

 

“Look, I’ve been here for a couple of days, and nothing’s exploded yet!” Harry insisted, and his voice came out a bit harsher than he’d meant it. “We’re _fine_. We’re both adults and we’re willing to put the past behind us.”

 

“Like Hermione said, Harry, we trust you,” Ron said uncertainly. “It’s Malfoy we don’t trust.”

 

“We can’t keep letting the war dictate our mentality,” Harry stated matter-of-factly.

 

“Alright,” Hermione gave in, but her voice clearly stated her disapproval.

 

“So…how are things, mate?” Ron asked hastily, to change the subject. “Adrian phoned us yesterday.”

 

“Yeah, I bumped into him last night and he called me this morning,” Harry returned, grateful for the shift in topic, although it was just another uncomfortable one that Ron was probably regretting.

 

“He’s really trying to get back with you,” Hermione muttered.

 

Harry winced. He hadn’t really told him what happened with Adrian, at least not in full – he’d skimmed over the details of brief emotional put-downs and catching him red-handed, but other than that, he’d found everything too difficult to talk about. He’d never been good at expressing what was in his head, or putting his emotions into words, and it was just too hard for him to tell them about it right now. Although Ron, not wanting to get involved, had accepted Harry’s judgement, Hermione wanted to know what had gone wrong, and she took Harry’s reluctance to discuss it as a sign that he wasn’t over Adrian. As far as she was concerned, Adrian seemed repentant.

 

Harry guessed she was half-right. He was fairly certain that Adrian would be sweet and wonderful to him for the first few weeks if they got back together, but he also knew that the novelty would die away, and within a couple months, Adrian would be back to normal. He might never cheat again, but he wouldn’t stop using Harry.

 

“I know,” Harry sighed, because he didn’t know what else to say.

 

“Are you going to give him another chance?” Ron tried, tentatively.

 

“I don’t think so,” Harry replied.

 

“Why won’t you tell us what he did, Harry?” Hermione asked, sounding exasperated.

 

“It just won’t work out between us,” stated Harry. He wasn’t in the mood for an interrogation session. “Look, guys, I’m really worn out. This job is tough, and I need to rest, and...” He trailed off, not sure if they would buy his half-arsed excuse.

 

They didn’t, but they let him get away with it.

 

“Alright, mate. Don’t be a stranger,” Ron said warmly, if not too much so.

 

“Take care of yourself, Harry,” Hermione ordered.

 

“Bye, guys,” Harry murmured feebly, and he hung up first. Picking up his paperback to distract himself, Harry promised himself that sooner or later, he’d tell them. He would. Really.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Draco turned his head away from his book as the fireplace roared violently. Sighing and wondering who would Fire-Call him at the ungodly hour, he stood up and walked over to it.

 

Pansy Parkinson’s face appeared in the burning wood, and she looked extremely displeased. “Draco,” she began dramatically, huffing his name out as if it was burden to her very soul.

 

“Yes, darling?” Draco drawled, smirking.

 

“You didn’t tell me about your new employee,” Pansy trilled, sounding mildly betrayed.

 

“Well, nice to see you too, Pansy,” Draco smirked. “And yes, I’m doing well, how about yourself?”

 

“Don’t try to flirt your way out of this, Draco!” Pansy scolded, sounding remarkably like a little child. “I saw you on the cover of a Muggle newspaper, and you were with the _Boy Who Wouldn’t Die_!”

 

Draco adopted a bored tone. “Whatever were you doing looking at a Muggle newspaper?”

 

“That is beside the point!” Even through the embers, Draco could tell her cheeks were flushed with embarrassment. “When did you start being all chummy with _him_?”

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Draco mused patiently. “My relationship with Potter is merely professional.”

 

“That’s what _everyone_ says before they sleep with their secretary!” Pansy interjected. Then she paused, looking thoughtful, and Draco cursed inwardly. It never did anyone good when Pansy thought. “Is _that_ what you’re doing with him, Draco?” she crooned suddenly, smiling falsely. “Trying to get in his pants?”

 

“Would you keep it down?” Draco snarled, glancing around nervously, worried that Potter had put some form of surveillance charm in his room. Although it would be an invasion of privacy, Potter was known for being so thorough it was almost to the point of paranoia.

 

Pansy looked triumphant. “So _that_ ’s the story?” she grinned. “You want to fuck him?”

 

“I disapprove of such vulgar language,” Draco rebuked. “And no, that wasn’t the original reason I hired him. I wasn’t even _aware_ that Potter was going to sent by the Ministry. He isn’t even certified. It was the last thing I expected.”

 

“But...?” Pansy urged on.

 

“But he’s definitely attractive,” Draco conceded. “And I wouldn’t mind if we progressed into something casual before I return to America.”

 

“Oh, yeah, he’s totally hot now,” Pansy agreed, and Draco nearly choked. “Not to mention he’s got a little bit of that bad boy appeal, now that he isn’t so goody-goody, you know?”

 

“Now, now, Pansy, let’s not get our heads too tangled up in the clouds, shall we?” Draco smirked.

 

“At least I have more of a chance with him than you ever will,” Pansy shot back. “He’s _straight_ , you know.”

 

The truth in that statement hurt a little more than it should have. “Perhaps,” Draco gave in quietly.

 

Pansy shrugged it off – she didn’t really care for winning as much as most Slytherins still did; she had long outgrown what she referred to as a show of immaturity. Unfortunately, if that analogy was accurate, then Draco was still far from mature.

 

“Are we still on for next week?” she asked.

 

Draco swore. “Fuck, I forgot, I’ll be busy on Friday.”

 

Pansy scowled visibly, and she whined, “Draco! You _promised._ This is the third time you’ve cancelled out on Greg and I since you got here. We’ve only met up _once_ , and that was just for coffee.”

 

“I apologize,” Draco said formally. “Look, darling, everything is just so extremely hectic. I promise to set aside time for us before the month is over.”

 

Pansy snorted. “Right,” she muttered, sounding unconvinced, mock-hurt etched onto her expression.

 

Slytherin manipulation didn’t work on Slytherins. Draco was unmoved, although he still felt slightly guilty for forgetting about their appointment. “I’ll call you,” he offered feebly.

 

“Yeah, sure,” Pansy chuckled, not believing him for a second. “Ta-ta, darling!”

 

Slowly, her face receded from the fireplace, and Draco was back to being alone. He would really have to remember to meet up with Pansy and Gregory. He’d better ask Vanessa to clear out his schedule.

 

Unfortunately, with current circumstances, he was going to have to bring Potter along with him.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Harry could get used to this, really. He’d been working with Malfoy for a week, and things had yet to explode. He also felt more...real, if that was possible.

 

After the War, he had felt as if his only meaning was fulfilled – he had done what he had to, and he was no longer needed. He had served his purpose, and that was that. It was as if he had expired. Adrian had made him feel alive for a short segment of time, and then had quickly wore him down again.

 

But now, working, being depended on, all the things that he had to do, made him feel like he still had some form of purpose or other in his life, and that helped him to cope with everything that was going on.

 

His daily jibes with Malfoy helped to form a sort of routine to his days, and were a good way to relieve some of the frustration built within him. Malfoy seemed to instinctively know when Harry was particularly annoyed, and he’d let Harry win, just for that one time. In the same way, if Malfoy experienced a particularly horrid day, he’d rile Malfoy up and then let him win. They helped each other out.

 

Several times, their petty arguments escalated to worrying levels, but they never came quite as close to an actual fistfight – or whatever it was – as they had at the movie set. Harry wasn’t sure if he was grateful or disappointed. Whatever had almost happened that day was something new and unknown, and Harry was still very much a sucker for solving mysteries.

 

Today had been a relatively peaceful, laid-back sort of day. No arguments, almost no petty debates whatsoever, and not a single raised voice, and the day had been hate mail free – so much so that Malfoy’s paranoid disposition had slipped and Harry was allowed to leave his presence and grab a drink. He was on his way back from the vending machine while Malfoy finished up with a scene. He hadn’t received any calls from Adrian today, which was a relief, as the man had been bugging him persistently for the past week.

 

Whistling a song that Malfoy would cringe at, Harry made his way down the halls, rounded the corner and nearly collided with Malfoy’s PA, Vanessa.

 

“I’m so sorry,” Harry apologized hurriedly. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

 

“It’s quite alright,” Vanessa smiled. “I wasn’t, either. If you’re looking for Draco, he’s already gone back to his dressing room. I’m on my way there, myself.”

 

“Ah, thanks. I’ll follow you.” Harry doubled back and fell into step behind the personal assistant.

 

“How’re you and Draco getting on?” Vanessa asked. “You’ve been working for him for quite a while.”

 

“It’s only been a week,” Harry corrected. “And we’re getting on better than I expected.”

 

“Trust me, it’s a long time for him,” Vanessa responded with a laugh. “Why do you think a high-profile actor with millions of adoring, slightly barmy fans doesn’t already have a regular bodyguard?” She smirked in a scarily Slytherin-like way. “He can’t keep anyone employed for more than two days. Either he overworks and pisses them off to the point of insanity, driving them to hand in their resignations and run right out the door, or he finds something absolutely intolerable about them and fires them before the day ends.” She shook her head. “He’s impossible to please. I’m surprised you’ve lived up to his sky-high standards _and_ are still standing on both feet.”

 

Chuckling, Harry replied carefully, “Malfoy and I are both from Hogwarts. I guess I’m...used to him, and he knows what to expect from me.”

 

“And yet, you still call him by his surname,” Vanessa noted. “And if I’m not mistaken, you were from houses that were hostile towards each other.”

 

“True,” Harry reasoned. “We’re not really friends, but we still know each other well enough.”

 

Vanessa contemplated him for a moment. “I think there’s something more than that to it.”

 

“Like what?”

 

“I think he’s...partial to you.”

 

“In what way?”

 

Vanessa opened her mouth to reply, but before he could, Harry heard a horrifying cry, halfway between a torn shout and a scream, coming from Malfoy’s dressing room.

 

In an instant, Harry took off down the hall, only briefly glancing around to make sure no Muggles were in his direct vicinity before drawing his wand and flinging open the door. As soon as he did, though, he took two involuntary steps back, his jaw hanging open.

 

Malfoy was on the floor, clutching his head in his hands, and there were flames dancing around him, filling the entire room with an incredible heat.

 

“ _Aguamenti!_ ” Harry cried, but the water splashed feebly onto the walls, doing nothing to even momentarily dissipate the embers. He could hear footsteps starting to approach them to discover the cause of the ruckus. “Vanessa, Confund anyone who gets within earshot!” Harry shouted. “And get a fire extinguisher!”

 

Vanessa had drawn her wand, too, and was standing a few steps away from the doorway, casting charms on the edges of the halls. “A fire extinguisher? Whatever for?” she exclaimed.

 

“Can’t you see his room is on _fire_?” Harry shouted, exasperated.

 

Vanessa stared at him for a moment, looking him over as if he was crazy, then staring at her boss on the floor in confusion. “No,” she said slowly.

 

Harry glanced back into the room, incredulous. There were embers _everywhere_ , how could she not see...?

 

And then he noticed that although everything was on fire, nothing was _burning_. There had been a spell cast on the room itself – only those who walked into the room would see the fire.

 

Now convinced that he wasn’t in danger, Harry rushed into the room, sheathing his wand, and bent over his employer. “Malfoy? Malfoy!” he shouted, but his cries fell on deaf ears as Malfoy shrank away from him. “Malfoy, none of this is _real_! There’s nothing in your room! Malfoy, look at me!” He tried to forced Malfoy’s face up, but the Slytherin’s eyes were darting from side to side, consumed completely by fright. “Malfoy, listen, listen, it isn’t real!” He lifted the man up – he was so thin – and shook him lightly. “Malfoy. Malfoy! _Malfoy!_ ” But he wasn’t listening, and Harry was fairly certain that he wasn’t even present in the room right now.

 

“What do I do?” Vanessa slightly panicked voice came from the doorway. She was doing remarkably well, or at least much better than most would have done under the situation. Although she was agitated and worried, her head was still on her shoulders, and her manner was mostly calm.

 

“Get me some brandy.” Harry ordered.

 

There was the sound of high heels clacking, then silence.

 

“Malfoy,” Harry tired again. Reaching for his wand, he cast a quick calming spell over him, but Malfoy was resilient, still stubborn even in his half-delirious state. “Draco!” Harry shouted.

 

And then, just like that, Malfoy snapped out of it. His vision cleared, and he saw Harry properly for the first time, but upon seeing the fire, he recoiled again.

 

“Shh, Draco,” Harry urged, realizing that it was the blond’s given name that had brought him back to earth. It felt odd, but not unpleasant, on his tongue. “Look at me.” Malfoy’s eyes snapped to his, looking frantic but otherwise clear. “It’s not real. It’s an illusion. Your room isn’t on fire. I need you to relax. Do you understand?”

 

Malfoy nodded, and Harry performed a series of detection charms, attempting to figure out what the spell on the room was. When he came up with naught, he asked, “Where did the fire originate from?”

 

Malfoy shuddered, then pointed at a box on his table. Harry made to get up, but Malfoy clung to his arm desperately.

 

“Draco, I’m going to have to get the box and destroy it. Remember, none of this is real,” Harry soothed. “I’ll be right here, less than a few feet away from you. Alright?”

 

Malfoy released his grip on Harry’s arm, and Harry noted the calming of his eyes, and the gradual coolness returning to his face, although he was still tense. It was Malfoy’s defense mechanism.

 

Steeling himself, reminding himself that the fire didn’t exist, Harry crossed the room in two strides, lifted the box off the table with his wand, and whispered a complicated spell. The box exploded into a thousand tiny fragments on the floor, and the embers immediately died away. Malfoy let out a tiny whimper of post-fright, and Harry rushed back to him, gently lifting him up the floor and leading him out of the room.

 

At that exact moment, Vanessa came running around the corner, a large bottle grasped in her hand. She ran over to them and handed it to Harry, who took it with a nod of thanks. He tipped Malfoy’s head back and gently coaxed him to drink it.

 

When Malfoy had taken a long swig, his eyes were no longer clouded, and Harry saw that familiar mask of indifference slip back over his face. He stood up unsteadily, ignoring Harry’s protests and offers of help. “Thank you, Potter, Van,” he said quietly. “I feel better already.”

 

“You never mentioned this phobia,” Harry murmured, just loud enough for Malfoy to hear. Things were starting to click into place. Malfoy was generally a calm person, and quite a skilled Wizard – upon receiving the hexed parcel, he should have tried some basic spells first, and if that had failed, he would have simply stepped out of the room. But no; in this case, the fire had overwhelmed Malfoy’s usually unfailing logic. This was what had prompted Malfoy to get a bodyguard in the first place – someone had been using fire as a threat, and that person had done his research and knew about Malfoy’s experience with Fiendfyre.

 

But Harry regretted his statement the second it left his lips. Malfoy’s head snapped upwards, his silver eyes meeting Harry’s in a fierce, set glare. “I don’t see how that is any of your business,” he snarled, and he spun on his heel and briskly walked down the hallway.

 

Vanessa cast Harry a look, then picked up the bottle of brandy and took off after her boss. Harry could’ve sworn he heard her mutter, “Guess I spoke too soon.”

 

Harry knew he wasn’t going to get fired. He had practically saved Malfoy’s life – he had done exactly what he was supposed to do, and it would be unfair to be let go for that. And he also knew that there was no way he was quitting, especially now that he knew that Malfoy was indeed in real danger. However, Harry did feel as if he had been given an opportunity to find out more about this mysterious Slytherin, and that he had missed his chance. And that wasn’t a good feeling at all.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Draco’s heart beat impossibly fast against his ribs as he made his way into the men’s room. He was vaguely aware of Potter following him from a distance – stalking was not one of Potter’s fortes – and desperately thought of a way to shake him off. Filming had finished for the day, and Draco didn’t want to go back to the set for no reason, and so he ducked into the men’s room.

 

He wasn’t sure how much he had revealed in his half-delusional state, but perhaps his condition alone had alerted Potter and told the almost-Auror everything he needed to know. It was his irrational fear of fire, really, that was the cause of all this trouble. If only he wasn’t so downright terrified of it.

 

Draco splashed water over his face and noticed that his hands were still shaking. He stilled them, clutching them into fists until his knuckles turned white, but they still shuddered. Annoyed with himself and his lack of self-control, Draco focused on the Manor and Apparated.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

It had been nearly half an hour, and Malfoy hadn’t emerged from the men’s room. Harry cursed silently. Malfoy must have noticed him following him and decided not to come out. Harry’s strong point had never been tracking – in fact, it was the only area of his Auror training that he hadn’t been good at.

 

Sighing, Harry walked up to the bathroom door and knocked on it, three sharp raps with his fist. “Malfoy? Come out for a second,” he urged. “I didn’t mean to say that, and I’m sorry. Come on, we can talk. Or not. We can just not mention it ever again.” Silence. “Malfoy?”

 

Harry pushed open the door and stepped inside. The room was empty.

 

Harry cursed. The idiotic prick was _in danger_ , and he had chosen to conveniently disappear?

 

Harry forced himself to think. Malfoy was still afraid of being attacked, so he wouldn’t go somewhere too open or deserted. In fact, he would probably be reluctant to go anywhere unaccompanied. Harry’s best guess was the Manor.

 

Praying that Malfoy hadn’t adjusted the wards so as not to let him through anymore, Harry Apparated to Malfoy Manor.

 

Harry emerged relatively unscathed in the front hall of Malfoy’s dwellings. He glanced around hesitantly, and noticed Blinky dusting the umbrella stand in the corner. “Blinky, is Malfoy here?”

 

Blinky looked up at him with big, frightened eyes and nodded. “Yes, Master Malfoy is being in his room. But he is being angry.”

 

Just as he suspected. “The prick,” Harry muttered under his breath. “Thanks, Blinky,” he added at normal volume, then he strode into the Manor’s interior. He didn’t feel like returning to his room, and he knew that Malfoy wouldn’t want to be disturbed. He would talk to the man later.

 

Without realizing it, Harry had walked into the sitting room. He had never been here before. There was a lamp glowing faintly on one of the tables, but it did nothing much to illuminate the room. Perhaps he should go over to the light source and read his book – it might distract him from his troubles. Pacing over, he sat himself down on a leather one-seater sofa, opened up his book, and prepared to get lost in the world of fantasy.

 

Except...

 

“Good evening, Mister Potter,” a voice spoke clearly, authority sparking off of its tone. Harry stood up, hand flying to his wand reflexively, then releasing it a moment later when he realized that he recognized the calm, delicate, empowered voice. A silhouette of a woman was resting upon a larger couch, in front of him. He could not see her clearly in the dark, but he already knew who she was.

 

“Mrs Malfoy,” he said politely, bowing slightly.

 

“I understand that you are working for Draco now,” she said, her voice calculated.

 

“Yes,” Harry responded. He did not elaborate, but he probably didn’t have to. He was certain that she knew exactly what was going on.

 

“Frankly, I’m surprised that you are still here,” she mused. “Draco seemed quite adamant that you would choose not to return tonight.”

 

“He doesn’t know me all that well,” Harry replied, as gently as possible.

 

“On the contrary, I believe he knows you well enough,” Narcissa said, with equal softness in her voice, although it was quite clear that she would neither be reasoned nor argued with. “Perhaps it is _you_ who has changed over the years.”

 

“Perhaps,” Harry allowed. “But I believe many of us have, anyway.”

 

She lifted a frail arm and gestured towards the book he was holding. “What are you reading?”

 

“This? Oh,” Harry didn’t know what to say, suddenly feeling embarrassed by his choice of literature. “It’s just Gallaghers of Ardmore Trilogy, by Nora Roberts. She’s a Muggle author.”

 

“I’ve heard of her,” Narcissa replied. Harry searched for a tone of disapproval in her voice, but couldn’t find one. “She writes romance, does she not?”

 

“Yes,” he confirmed. “I read quite a lot of romance books, to be honest. In fact, I was reading a different one yesterday. I don’t think Malfoy quite approves.”

 

A smile was in Narcissa’s voice when she replied, “Draco is a hopeless pessimist. He calls himself a realist, but I know better.” She paused, seemed to reflect on something, then continued, “I, too, find sanctuary in books, regardless of their nature. I find that sometimes, when the troubles of the world engulf you, the only way to truly escape its horrors is to immerse yourself in tales of fantasy.”

 

Harry nodded appreciatively. “I agree.”

 

Narcissa stood up. “I’m afraid I must return to my quarters. It is late, and long nights do not do well for me. Goodnight, Mister Potter.”

 

“Goodnight, Mrs Malfoy,” he said, although he wished to ask her so many questions. Instead, he settled for one. “Before you retire, if I could...please...ask you something?”

 

Narcissa turned to face him, and for the first time, Harry saw her full features, and it shocked him. She still carried that regal air of a queen, and she was immaculately dressed and as beautiful as she had been before, but her blue eyes were empty...almost dead. “Yes?” she questioned, arching a perfectly shaped eyebrow.

 

“I...” Harry wasn’t sure how to ask this. “I suppose you know what happened to Draco at work today,” he began.

 

“Someone sent him a box of false flames,” she replied coolly.

 

“Ah, good, so he’s told you,” Harry grinned sheepishly.

 

“Draco has not spoken to me, nor to anyone else, since he returned from work,” Narcissa replied, her voice becoming edgier and colder. “I happen to be...a particularly gifted Legilimens. His thoughts are loud, and his anger is nearly tangible. I can pick up on his emotions and prominent thoughts, even through these walls. It’s always been a talent of mine.”

 

“I see,” Harry said quietly, suddenly becoming aware of the fact that she was possibly looking through his thoughts at that very moment. “Well, I was wondering...if you know how bad his fear of fire is.”

 

In an instant, Narcissa’s eyes turned sad. “I’m afraid that I cannot tell you. That is his story to tell.”

 

Harry knew the disappointment was showing in his face. “Alright. I understand. Thank you, Mrs Malfoy.”

 

The woman nodded once in acknowledgement, and then she walked out the door and disappeared into the dark.

 

Harry glanced at the grandfather clock standing against the wall. It was nearly eleven o’clock. He had might as well return to his room and get some rest. He had a feeling that the next day wouldn’t be easy.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Harry was awoken by the sound of cries. It was three in the morning, if his Tempus charm was anything to go by, and his brain was still in sleep-mode. He forced himself to focus and listen to the sounds again. Then it hit him – it was coming from Malfoy’s room.

 

Leaping to his feet, Harry wondered why the alarm he’d set on Malfoy’s room hadn’t gone off, and drew his wand for what must have been about the millionth time that week. Leaving his room, he stumbled briefly in the dark corridor, then uttered a “ _Lumos_!” before throwing himself against Malfoy’s door, which gave way to him with a low groan.

 

There were no visible threats in the room – Malfoy was curled up on his bed in a protective manner, whimpering quietly. Harry quickly checked the room for any signs of intruders, and found none. Malfoy was simply having a nightmare.

 

Once certain that they were both safe, Harry bolted towards the bed. Malfoy’s face was wet with tears, and he was shivering violently. Harry reached out to touch his shoulder, and found that his shirt was damp with cold sweat. “Malfoy?” he said loudly, shaking him. “Malfoy!”

 

Malfoy groaned, whispering, “Please, no...I don’t want to die...please...”

 

“Malfoy, wake up!” Harry yelled. “Draco!”

 

Once more, the use of his first name brought Malfoy to consciousness. He jerked upright, pushing Harry roughly away, eyes wide and terrified, and he let out a loud scream.

 

This area of expertise had not been covered by Harry’s Auror training, nor had it been in any of his modules, so Harry did the only thing he could think of – he grabbed Malfoy in a tight embrace and held on.

 

Malfoy struggled at first, fighting him off, and fists rained down on Harry’s back and shoulders. Gritting his teeth, Harry tried not to follow his natural instinct to fight back. “Draco, it’s me,” he said. “Draco, stop. Stop. It’s me, it’s Harry. You’re safe, Draco. You’re safe.”

 

Slowly, Malfoy – Draco? – ceased shuddering and yelling, calming down until he merely sobbed weakly in Harry’s arms. Harry waited patiently for a few moments while Malfoy collected himself, and then, before Harry could gently extract himself from their position, Malfoy pulled away hastily, so roughly that Harry nearly tumbled off the bed.

 

“You alright?” Harry asked.

 

“Fine,” Malfoy replied stonily. “Thank you for waking me up. You may return to bed now.”

 

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. What was wrong with this idiot? Didn’t he realize that Harry _needed_ to know this to protect him fully?

 

“Malfoy,” Harry began.

 

“ _I said_ ,” Malfoy hissed, “You may return to bed now.”

 

“Malfoy, you can’t keep me out forever!” Harry snapped.

 

“Leave me in peace, Potter!” Malfoy shouted. “Can’t you just _listen_ to me for once in your life?”

 

“Malfoy, there are some things that I need to know!” Harry exclaimed. “How do you expect me to protect you when you won’t even tell me what is eating at you?”

 

“I don’t _expect_ you to do _anything_!” Malfoy yelled back. “You could get out and leave this Manor anytime you like! I’m not keeping you here!”

 

Harry groaned, allowing his head to fall forward into his hands. “Malfoy, you know I’m not leaving,” Harry sighed. “I’ve had plenty of reasons and opportunities before, but it’s going to take more than your stubborn, stupid Slytherin ways to get me out of here.” He waited for signs of interruption, but detecting none, he went on, “Now, I’m only trying to do my job the best I can, but I’m unable to do that until you open up to me a little.”

 

Silence. Malfoy seemed to be listening. Logic always worked with Slytherins.

 

But not this one. This one was too much of a prick.

 

“I apologize,” Malfoy said quietly, “if I am making your already difficult job even tougher for you. But there is nothing that I can tell you that will be of any use to you.”

 

Harry understood the tone of his voice – it was one of dismissal. Impossibly annoyed, Harry swung the door open and slammed it behind him.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Potter’s manner was forcibly polite today, and even though he knew he deserved it, Draco couldn’t help but feel a small tingle of loss. It was as if all the progress they had made over the past week had been in vain, and they were back to square one. But Malfoys were proud, and they weren’t the type to apologize, and Draco was quite keen to live up to that legacy.

 

Draco told himself he didn’t care about the significant lack of warmth that emanated off of Potter, but the truth was it bothered him. He had begun to enjoy Potter’s company – it had been so easy to fall back into their familiar routine of riling each other up, and now that it was gone, he realized how much he _missed_ the git.

 

Neither mentioned Draco’s nightmare or his phobia of fire, but that was to be expected. Draco might be a coward, but he wasn’t the only one.

 

Their arrival at the set was filled with tension. There were no good-natured jibes – heck, no jibes of any kind – and Draco felt like he would explode from pressure. Twice while filming, he fucked up his lines so badly and repeatedly that he needed to take a break, which was something he rarely did. Potter watched him the entire time, a thoughtful expression on his face, etched in his green eyes.

 

Draco decided to grab a coffee from a shop downstairs – perhaps it would help clear his mind. Seeing him stand up, Potter followed suit, another positively revolting book tucked under his arm. Draco wanted so badly to tease him about it, but his pride wouldn’t let him, so he led the way out of the set.

 

Draco liked going to this particular coffee shop because it was discreet and almost no one went there. The store made its profit in the early mornings, when it was so packed that it was impossible to get in without getting trampled on, and then was pretty much vacant for the rest of the day.

 

As Draco placed an order for regular black coffee. Potter had teased him about liking such a plain, “boring” drink just two days ago, but he could hardly imagine Potter joking around with him now. It wasn’t as if Draco didn’t enjoy an Espresso every once in a while – he just preferred to keep things simple. In fact, he always had, which had made him stand out quite a bit among his schoolmates back at Hogwarts.

 

Potter was still watching him carefully, and Draco could quite plainly see how difficult it was for him to hold onto his pride. Those expressive jade eyes told him everything he needed to know – so open and honest. Potter was horrible at concealing his emotions – he was like an open book.

 

Which is why Draco immediately sensed Potter’s tension and agitation as another patron entered the shop, because his gaze angered considerably and his muscles stiffened, wariness replacing all the pensiveness that had been in his eyes before. Draco turned to face the person who had just walked in, a good-looking young chap with dark, brooding eyes, and very nearly drew his wand in response to Potter’s anxiety.

 

“Harry,” the man said casually, and as soon as Draco saw Potter’s reaction, which was to step back, looking deflated, he knew they were in trouble.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Harry’s cheeks burned red, his hands clenched in fists at the side of his body, and he glared at Adrian in a way he hope was furious, but probably came off more weary than intended. He was vaguely aware of Malfoy’s indifferent but nervous stance at the counter. To console him, Harry made a little abstract gesture as an indication that it was okay. Malfoy relaxed visibly, but his careful, grey eyes were still suspicious, and regarded the newcomer with venom.

 

“Adrian,” Harry murmured, not trusting himself to speak any louder.

 

“I was hoping I’d bump into you,” Adrian smirked. “It’s about time.”

 

“You were following me,” Harry replied coldly. He knew Adrian too well to fall for his bullshit.

 

“Perhaps, if that’s what it takes,” was the cocky reply. His eyes rested on Malfoy, and Harry tensed, reaching for his wand reflexively. “What’s this?” Adrian questioned, quirking an eyebrow, and Harry saw a flash of judgement in his eyes, which pissed Harry off beyond belief.

 

“That’s my boss,” Harry snapped.

 

“Oh? This is the job the Ministry offered you?” Adrian asked, smiling lightly in that charming manner that used to send butterflies trilling through Harry’s stomach. But Harry heard the unspoken question in Adrian’s voice: _Is this the kind of scum you hang out with now, Harry?_

 

“It is,” Harry responded shortly. He could see Malfoy’s forefinger tapping on the countertop, and resentment began to form. He didn’t like the fact that the person he was supposed to be protecting was being indirectly insulted like this.

 

“That’s nice,” Adrian replied smoothly. “It’s too much of a coincidence that we keep running into each other, though. I take it as a sign that we should probably try for a meal, eh?”

 

“I’m working,” Harry shot back.

 

“I know, I meant later, when –”

 

“Look, Adrian, I don’t know why you’re still hanging around,” Harry said, losing his patience. “I made it quite clear that I’m not interested in whatever you have in mind –”

 

“Reconciliation,” Adrian replied sharply, sounding a little upset – Harry had never blown him off like this before. Perhaps it was Malfoy’s tension wafting around the room, or perhaps it was the fact that he was already stressed out, but Harry suddenly felt like a brave Gryffindor again, and seeing Adrian finally seem affected by his words was oddly satisfying. “I made a mistake, Harry, and I really –”

 

“Did you?” Harry asked, his voice rising slightly. Malfoy was looking at him, appearing puzzled, but Harry ignored him. “You were using me the _entire_ time!”

 

“How can you even insinuate –”

 

“And if that wasn’t enough, you cheated on me while you were at it,” Harry snarled, and Malfoy’s usually impassive expression turned completely bewildered. Oh, that’s right – Malfoy didn’t know he liked men. This wasn’t really how he’d planned on coming out of the closet.

 

“Harry, it wasn’t what it looked like!” Adrian exclaimed, a pleading note to his voice.

 

Harry lost all his remaining temper then, and shouted, “Oh, I don’t know, Adrian. Let’s think about this.” He pretended to consider all the variables, then yelled, “Your dick was in his arse! I think it was _exactly_ what it looked like!”

 

A loud clanging, and the shopkeeper turned and disappeared into the kitchen.

 

“It wasn’t anything serious, it was just a fling!” Adrian said desperately, then he relaxed, controlling himself, and looked up, his deep eyes boring into Harry’s. “Look, it was a stupid mistake. I won’t ever do it again. I’m sorry.”

 

At some other point, Harry would have fallen for it. But not now. He was absolutely disgusted with himself for ever even being with Adrian. How could he have been so blind? Adrian was judgemental and close-minded, holding on to the past with a vengeance, everything that Harry hated about the Wizarding World. “Do you think I’m an idiot?” he snapped.

 

Adrian was grasping at straws now – that much was obvious. “I was your first, Harry! It was _me_ who woke you up, who made you realize what and who you were,” he reasoned. “I was your _first_. Don’t I deserve some recognition for that?”

 

“You were in my life for a reason. I get that. But honestly, who gives a fuck about _firsts_?” Harry hissed. “It’s the _second_ that matters, Adrian. That’s the one that makes you realize that you can still love, even after the first gave you all that crap.” He heard a derisive snort from Malfoy at this romantic notion, but that only spurred him on. “Besides, you only wanted me for the money, for the benefits. You were just waiting, that whole time, till I was ready to come out to the world. And then you would’ve used my fame, too.” It was the first time he had ever admitted it to anyone, even himself, out loud. It felt good.

 

“You know I would never –” Adrian broke off. “Look, Harry. Don’t you remember all those great times we had? You told me I took your breath away, and –”

 

Harry wasn’t having this. “Yeah, sure, but plenty of people can do that, can’t they? It’s the one who reminds me to _breathe_ who’s the keeper, in my opinion.” Another ridiculing sound from Malfoy, and Harry realized that they Slytherin was standing directly behind him.

 

“We were in _love,_ Harry,” Adrian begged, a final attempt to make Harry see his idea of sense. “We could go back to that.”

 

Harry laughed humourlessly. “Thanks for the offer, but I think I’ll pass.”

 

“Harry –“

 

And then Harry dealt the fatal blow. “I gave you far too much credit,” he said quietly. “You aren’t that fucking special.”

 

And all of a sudden, Harry was free. Adrian was no one, not in the grand scheme of things. He barely even noticed Adrian turning and leaving the store, and he couldn’t have cared less. He would much rather stand there with a hostile Draco Malfoy than ever be within a ten-foot radius of Adrian again.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

The rest of the day past in near-complete silence. Draco’s mind whirled every single time he tried to think of what had happened. Harry Potter, the Man Who Lived Twice, the saviour of the Wizarding World, was _gay_. Draco didn’t know how he felt about this.

 

That night, Potter – it was becoming increasingly difficult not to think of him as Harry – retired to his room early, still not having uttered a single word to Draco, who didn’t think he could stand it anymore.

 

Draco tried to distract himself by looking through his mail – not his fan mail, but those few letters from actual acquaintances, because he could never stand the pretentious, star-struck words his supporters sent him – but after reading a couple paragraphs of Gregory Goyle’s awful longhand, he gave it up, gathered his courage and chucked a bit of his pride in the corner, then promptly marched over to Potter’s room.

 

He knocked on the door politely, nothing like the sharp, incessant rapping Potter always did, and received no reply. For a moment, Draco thought he had either gone out on another walk or drifted off to sleep, but then a voice said softly, “Yes?”

 

“Potter,” Draco said, in the most businesslike manner he could muster. “I need to talk to you.”

 

“Come in,” Potter sighed.

 

Draco gently pushed open the door. Potter was seated, cross-legged, on the bed, still completely dressed, and was watching him expectantly, waiting for him to say whatever he wanted to say and get it over with. Annoyed by Potter’s presumptuousness, Draco sat himself down on the edge of the bed, delighting in the surprised expression that formed on the Gryffindor’s face.

 

“I...apologize, Potter,” Draco began.

 

The brunet snorted. “Don’t. I hate it when people apologize for something they didn’t do.”

 

“I was insinuating that I _sympathised_ ,” Draco sighed, rubbing his temples to stave off a migraine threatening to surface. “There’s no need to be so difficult about it.”

 

Potter nodded, glancing uncertainly downwards. “Sorry.”

 

Draco contemplated his next move. Perhaps they were playing a little quid-pro-quo. If he shared something about himself, maybe Potter would open up. “Alright,” he said quietly, causing Potter to glance at him questioningly. “I have...nightmares. Often. About...fire.”

 

Potter turned to face him, not saying anything, but giving a slight nod to show he was listening.

 

Draco took a deep breath. His heart beat was beginning to accelerate – he was risking so much, telling Potter this. Draco noticed the bodyguard’s gaze flit briefly to the former’s knee, and Draco realized that he had been tapping his forefinger against it – an old nervous habit he had picked up from his father. Draco curled his hand into a fist self-consciously. How many times had his quirk given him away?

 

“Ever since that day, during the war, I’ve been...terrified of fire,” Draco admitted quietly. “It was really bad at first. I wouldn’t even light the fireplace or a candle. I’d use warming charms in the winter, but when they started intensifying the dreams, I stopped altogether. I nearly succumbed to hypothermia and had to be admitted to a Muggle hospital.” Draco paused to take a breath, then went on, “That’s when I realized that Muggles weren’t so bad. They helped me heal, and my phobia dissipated slightly. I actually forgot about it, for a while. The nightmares did occur every once in a while, but nowhere near as terribly as they once did. But now...” Draco trailed off.

 

“Go on,” Potter urged.

 

Draco nodded, collected himself, and continued. “A parcel arrived the day I asked for a bodyguard. It had contained some form of untraceable, hexed fire, one that my security charms hadn’t picked up and couldn’t be extinguished by Aguamenti. The flames...they brought something back to my memory, and it scared me. And each time that person sends me something like that, I...I fall a little bit more back into that state of constant terror. What disturbs me is that the reason I decided to co-produce this film, Out Of The Fire, as well as star in it, was because it was supposedly perfect for me – I had come out of the fire, overcome my past. I stopped caring about this stupid Dark Mark, I got through all of that, and now I feel like I’m back to square one.”

 

Potter listened kindly, but he didn’t offer Draco and pitying, sympathetic words. There was no _I’ll protect you_ or _I’ll find out who’s doing this_ , and that was good, because Draco really hated it when people did things like that. Instead, Potter placed a consoling hand on his shoulder.

 

There was more that Draco wanted to say, but he was too afraid to say it, so they sat in silence for a moment, then Potter said, “Adrian was the guy who made me realize that I...liked men. We were together for a couple years, but...”

 

Draco nudged him gently, a silent demand for him to continue.

 

“I mean, he said he loved me, but I don’t think that was the case,” Potter confided, his voice trembling slightly. “He...often told me things that made me feel bad about myself. Little things, really, and just a tad here and there, like saying I looked bad in a certain outfit or laughing a little too harshly at something I said or did. And they hurt, those things.”

 

Draco suddenly understood why Potter seemed so insecure about himself. Adrian wore him down, tore him apart bit by bit until he didn’t know which statement was fabricated and which was constructive criticism. “Did you...love him?” Draco asked. He didn’t know why it was important for him to know, but it was.

 

Potter looked surprised at the question. “Well, I don’t think so, now that I’m out of it. But when I was there, it sure as hell felt like it. I’m not the type of guy who does well with one night stands and casual flings. That’s more of Adrian’s thing, which is why he could separate himself so easily from his emotions when it came to me. In hindsight, that should have been a warning from the start. But no, I wasn’t in love with him.”

 

Draco nodded. “I understand.”

 

Potter looked at him strangely. “Yes, I believe you do, Draco.”

 

Draco’s heart skipped a beat or two. He could certainly get used to Po – Harry calling him by his real name. It sounded foreign, but in a good sort of way. Of course, their little discussion had made it clear that Draco wasn’t going to get lucky with Harry the way he always did with his numerous conquests back in America.

 

But what if he wanted something more with Potter, something _more_ than a little, meaningless fling?

 

No, he didn’t. Draco was who he was. Some things wouldn’t change. He couldn’t let Potter fall for him, even though he had wanted to do so for the past week. He hated seeing Potter hurt like this, and there was no way he would be the one to hurt him. Just no way.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

That Friday wasn’t a pleasant one for Draco. Although he was insistent on dragging Harry along to his meet up with Pansy and Greg, he wasn’t looking forward to their reactions to having the Golden Boy within close quarters either, especially seeing as he had just written Greg about hiring Harry yesterday. The man hadn’t reacted well to it, although he was unusually graceful in his reply, which Draco was rereading right now.

 

As Harry read over the Apparation coordinates in his hand, Draco wondered if the Gryffindor had any idea how good he looked in the clothes Draco had provided for him – today it was a powder blue shirt and a pair of brown trousers. If Pansy had considered him hot before, she would definitely fall head over heels now.

 

After a quick Apparation, both emerged easily in the deserted back alley of a humble Muggle restaurant. Draco led the way in through the back door. This was one of his favourite restaurants – it was quiet, and no wizards ever patronised it.

 

Pansy saw him before he could find her. “Drake, darling!” she smiled, walking right up to him and pulling him into a tight hug. Draco patted her back affectionately, smirking a little when she whispered in his ear, “He’s even more handsome in person.”

 

Greg stood up and they greeted each other in a brotherly manner before he turned to Harry and offered him his hand. Draco felt secretly proud of his friend – he had matured so much over the past few years. The Greg he once knew would have given Harry a glare or a hex.

 

They sat down, and the atmosphere felt slightly strained and awkward. Harry stood up and offered to get a separate table to leave the friends to catch up, but Pansy cut in, “Oh, no, Harry, we couldn’t ask you to that. Any friend of Draco is a friend of ours.”

 

Greg nodded earnestly, and that sealed the deal – Harry sat down again.

 

After a slightly uncomfortable routine of pleasantries, Pansy managed to engross Harry in a rather animated discussion about the state of the Wizarding world. If he hadn’t known Harry preferred men, Draco might have felt jealous.

 

“How you holding up?” he asked Greg.

 

Greg smiled a little. A part of him had died along with Crabbe in the fire – he had never been the same again since then. “I’m coping,” he joked, but Draco heard the truth hidden carefully in the seemingly light-hearted comment and gave him a light pat on the back.

 

“If there’s anything I can do –” he began.

 

“You’ve done more than enough for me, Draco,” Greg replied. “It’s time for me to stand on my own.”

 

Draco felt another surge of pride at Greg’s spirit. “Not easy when you have two left feet,” he noted.

 

Greg laughed. “That’s rich, coming from you.”

 

Draco was about to retaliate when he heard a chair being pushed back. He looked up to see Harry excusing himself. As soon as the Gryffindor left the table, Pansy leaned in enthusiastically, a little like a tigress waiting to pounce on a dear.

 

“So, Drake,” she cooed. “Enjoying yourself? You’re not being a very good host to your employee now, are you?”

 

“Of course not, seeing as you’re monopolizing him,” Draco shot back. “You’re a shameless flirt, you know that?”

 

“It’s a curse,” Pansy smirked. “Not that it’ll make any difference, seeing as he’s gay.”

 

Draco nearly spewed his tea on the table. “What?” he gaped.

 

“Come on, don’t tell me it wasn’t obvious to you from the beginning,” Pansy snorted. “It’s so obvious.”

 

“He’s hardly prancing around in a purple shirt and gossiping about fashion, is he?” Draco snapped.

 

“No, but that’s all so stereotypical,” Pansy smirked. “When did you become so ruled by the norms? Besides, he hasn’t cast a single glance at that extremely attractive woman at the counter who Greg can’t seem to keep his eyes off of.”

 

Greg turned scarlet and Draco turned to look for the lady at the counter, and found that she was indeed exceptionally good-looking. Pansy was right – now that he thought about it, Harry had never seemed remotely interested in any of the women they saw on a daily basis. He had, however, struck up a long conversation with one of the male crew members once, which was something he never bothered to do with the ladies.

 

“Alright, so maybe I’ve been a little dense –”

 

“A little?” Pansy exclaimed. “You’ve got to be joking. You could see his homosexuality from a mile away! No wonder he hasn’t been back to the Wizarding World.”

 

“Wait a minute, Draco,” Greg said suddenly. “You aren’t...attracted to him, are you?”

 

“It’s only natural,” snapped Draco, but it sounded defensive to his ears.

 

Pansy immediately picked up on the signs, and her hand flew to cover her mouth in an honestly surprised gesture. “Oh  dear, Draco,” she gasped. “You can’t possibly...are you saying you actually _like_ this guy?”

 

It was now Draco’s turn to blush. “I...look, maybe, alright? What’s wrong with that?”

 

“But this is bad, Draco,” Pansy said seriously. “You never get emotionally involved in anything except the characters you play.”

 

Draco frowned as he thought about this. “It’s not too bad,” he assured her. “I’m not chasing after him or entertaining the notion of fucking him.”

 

Pansy didn’t look convinced, but before she could come up with any arguments, Harry returned to the table. She didn’t force the subject.

 

To Draco’s surprise, Greg turned a little to his left and began speaking to Harry, his brow furrowed in concentration. Draco wasn’t sure if he was trying very hard not to insult him, or just struggling to find the traces of homosexuality that had been so obvious to Pansy. Either way, it was nice to see one of his best friends getting on so well with Harry. Draco wasn’t sure why, but it felt right.

 

Pansy watched Draco with careful eyes for the rest of their meal, as though attempting to decipher his thoughts and uncover the truth. Draco turned his attention to Greg and Harry, who were having a genuine – though a slight bit forced – conversation.

 

When it was time to leave, Pansy hugged him once more and whispered in his ear. “I have yet to be wrong about these things, Drake,” she said. Draco didn’t have time to come up with a reply as she pulled away and moved to hug Harry too. She whispered something as well, but Draco didn’t catch it, and neither Harry nor Pansy responded to his questioning looks.

 

Sometimes, Draco had to question his choice in friends. Really.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Harry was becoming dangerously infatuated with Draco. He had originally been of the mind that if Draco revealed some of his secrets to him, his curiousity would be satisfied, and his obsession quelled, but this was not the case. In fact, it was quite the opposite. He found himself wanting to learn more and more about the Slytherin instead, which was rather unnerving. It was almost akin to a hunger, only instead of for food, he longed to absorb as much information as he could about Draco. It couldn’t be healthy.

 

It had gotten even worse after his meet-up with Pansy and Gregory, mostly because he still felt uneasy around Gregory and most especially because of what Pansy had whispered to him as they hugged goodbye.

 

_“He’s interested in you. If I were you, I’d be careful.”_

 

Harry didn’t know why he reacted so strongly to those words. Had it been about anyone else, he wouldn’t have cared – as far as he was concerned, until he heard it from the person himself, it was beneath his notice. But this time, he found himself actually _hoping_ that Draco would say something, and it worried him.

 

To avoid thinking about it too much, Harry decided to seek some form of peace in a quiet corner of the Manor. He was sat outside in the Manor gardens, which he had learned to love, reading yet another one of his paperbacks while inhaling the lovely scent of roses, when his solitude was disturbed by the owner of the house himself.

 

“Drooling over more ridiculous romanticisms, Potter?”

 

Harry glanced up, giving him an exasperated look. Draco often insisted on calling Harry by his surname each time he made a scathing comment – which, to be frank, was rather often.

 

“Good morning to you too, Draco.”

 

Draco had been considerably more cheerful for the past few days – he hadn’t received any more fire-centric threats, and had spent majority of his free time gardening while Harry sat and either watched him or read some more. Harry noticed that the act of planting and giving something life had a positive effect on Draco, which always helped lighten up the mood in the sombre house. The only problem with the fact that the hate mail was lessening was the glaring truth that Harry wouldn’t be working for Draco forever. Unexpectedly, he had come to enjoy the companionship, and he didn’t even find the job too bad, considering Draco mostly knew how to get around fans and overwhelming paparazzi.

 

“I’m curious, Potter,” Draco drawled. “How do you _stand_ such nonsense?”

 

“I happen to enjoy a little bit of optimism in my reading, thank you very much,” Harry snapped, standing up and shutting his book with a light _thud_.

 

“Hey, come on, Harry, I’m just kidding around,” Draco said, gently grabbing his arm and forcing him to sit back down. Harry felt a brief burn on his skin where Draco was touching it. “Carry on with your reading. However...” Draco’s smirk came back into play as Harry reluctantly returned to his seat. “I _am_ interested in how you are able to stand those horribly cliché storylines. Isn’t it a bit predictable?”

 

“They aren’t _all_ the same,” Harry shot back.

 

“No, not on the surface,” Draco allowed. “But there’s that underlying tone of slightly odd things, such as those horrid concepts of love at first sight, and ideas of chivalry and pick-up lines and fate and –”

 

“Now hang on a minute,” Harry cut in, although he knew Draco hated being interrupted. “Don’t you believe that if two people are meant to be together, they’ll come together eventually?”

 

Draco stared at Harry incredulously, then shook his head in a decidedly arrogant manner. “Fate is a fable told to uneducated Hufflepuffs who need something to believe in,” he scoffed. “When are you going to learn, Potter, that the only thing you can believe in is yourself?”

 

“Have you _always_ been this depressing?” Harry sighed.

 

“I simply grew up, Potter, unlike you,” Draco retaliated smoothly. “You’re still stuck in your little land of fairy tales, but that’s to be expected, seeing as you have the mental maturity of a five-year-old. After all, it isn’t as if you were sufficiently educated. I’m surprised you’re even able to comprehend what I’m saying, or string a sentence –”

 

Harry didn’t know what possessed him to do it, but he became so irked that before he knew it, he was standing, striding over to Draco, and shoving him roughly backwards. Draco fell, unceremoniously, although somehow still managing to look remotely graceful, and the next thing he knew, Harry was standing above a very flustered Draco in a rose bush.

 

Draco stared up at him, in complete shock. “Did you just push me into my own rose bush?” he demanded, all form of articulate speech gone.

 

Unbelievably calm, Harry replied, “It would appear so.”

 

“You…you…” Draco could barely speak as he struggled to get himself out of the plant’s thorny branches. “You’ve gotten me scratched all over!”

 

“I believe I might have,” Harry responded, trying to sound as cocky as possible. It wasn’t often that he got one over Draco, and he planned to make full of use of this opportunity.

 

The Slytherin finally untangled himself from the roses and stood up unsteadily, then proceeded to glance down at himself. “And my shirt…it’s in tatters!” he protested.

 

“A quaint observation,” Harry said, faking a bored yawn.

 

“Do you have any idea of the value of this piece of attire?” Draco practically yelled.

 

Harry cocked his head to one side, taking in Draco’s appearance and smiling. “I would like to say I did, but as you said, my inbred, uneducated brain can’t possibly comprehend it.”

 

Draco’s jaw dropped, and then he shouted again. “You’re my _bodyguard_ , for Salazar’s sake! You’re supposed to keep me safe, not put me in danger!”

 

“It’s a couple of shallow cuts from a pretty little flower shrub. You’ll live,” Harry chuckled.

 

Draco took a few calming breaths, and after a few moments, was able to bring himself back under control. Harry took the opportunity to survey Draco more properly. His shirt was indeed torn – gashes of cloth had been removed in several areas, and Harry could make out smooth, pale skin behind it. It looked rather inviting, actually, and Harry suddenly wished he could reach out and touch –

 

“I should push _you_ into a bush and see how you like it,” Draco said suddenly, distracting Harry from his observations, and the Gryffindor’s gaze snapped upwards hurriedly to Draco’s face. It was collected and relaxed again, although little spots of red remained scattered across his cheeks.

 

“I’m your _bodyguard_ , remember?” Harry grinned. “I’m supposed to keep you safe. How can I do that if I’m gravely wounded?”

 

Draco glared at him for just one moment longer, then he sighed in surrender and sat down on the bench. Harry took this as a cue to sit next to him.

 

“Look, if you didn’t have so many unnecessary jibes to give me about my preferences and intelligence, I wouldn’t have pushed you,” Harry said good-naturedly. “You have to admit that by now, you deserve it. That assault was long overdue.”

 

Draco didn’t reply to the statement, instead switching to another subject. “Why do you think I’m no longer receiving those threats?” he asked quietly.

 

“I don’t know,” Harry replied shortly. He should have known – Draco always came to rile him up and pick a fight when he was worried or concerned about something. “But it’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

 

“Yes, but it’s simply a little strange,” Draco mused. “It all stopped a little under a week ago, and it’s so out of character. The vibe I received from the person behind all this was that he wasn’t the type to give up.”

 

“Perhaps he realized that your bodyguard is the ex-Chosen One,” Harry snorted.

 

“It hasn’t hit the Prophet, so I’m assuming no one in the Wizarding World knows about our arrangement yet,” Draco argued.

 

Harry considered this. Draco had a point. Whoever had been threatening Draco had stopped, for whatever reason. It was as if too much was going well for them at once – Adrian was out of his life, and Draco was suddenly left unharmed. What a strange coincidence, that both had happened at around the same time –

 

Wait.

 

“Draco,” Harry said, heart racing. “Draco, which films did you conduct the auditions for?”

 

Looking up, Draco answered the question with a surprised tone in his voice, listing off a number of movies he had co-directed. Harry’s pulse accelerated tenfold when he heard one that he recognized all-too-well. It was the name of the movie that Adrian had been really interested in, but hadn’t made it in to.

 

It was no wonder that the threats had stopped after Adrian saw that Harry was Draco’s bodyguard! He had realized that there was no way he could get through to Draco when someone was watching over him. As incompetent as he believed Harry to be, Adrian wouldn’t risk being caught – his analytical mind would have sought out other ways to get around him.

 

“I think I know who’s been attacking you!” Harry exclaimed excitedly.

 

“Pray tell, who?” Draco sighed long-sufferingly, obviously thinking that it was another one of those false-leads Harry used to have a lot of back at Hogwarts.

 

“Adrian,” Harry said. “Don’t you think it’s weird that right after he sees that I’m working for you, all the threats stop pouring in?”

 

Draco’s eyes widened – he knew Harry was right. “Adrian? _That_ git? Why would he be after me?”

 

“You know how he is – he hasn’t left the past behind him, not by a long shot,” Harry replied. “In his head, we’re all still the same people we were during the war. And, most importantly, he tried out for a part in one of your movies and didn’t get in.”

 

Draco narrowed his eyes and furrowed his brows. “Ah, yes, I think I remember him vaguely now.”

 

“I have to inform the Ministry and have Adrian brought in,” Harry said with a smirk. “I always knew his heart wasn’t in the right place. Could I leave you alone for a bit? I need to speak to Kingsley.”

 

“Sure,” Draco said, and that was the permission Harry needed. With a _pop_ , he was gone.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

The rest of the day went by too quickly for Draco to fully process it. From the haphazard reports Harry gave him through the Floo, all he understood was that in the past few hours, Adrian had been taken in and held for questioning, Kingsley had been forced to admit that Draco had been right in requesting a bodyguard, and, worst of all, Harry’s services were no longer required by the Ministry.

 

Harry returned a little later in the evening, and Draco forced himself to smile at him.

 

“So what’s happened to Adrian?”

 

“He refuses to talk, and we don’t have enough against him to use Veritaserum, but it’s only a matter of time before he cracks,” Harry said confidently. “They’ve all got a breaking point.”

 

 _I do, too_. Draco nodded. “It’s a pity you aren’t an Auror,” he smirked. “You clearly have quite a head for it.”

 

Harry laughed. “I’m not really that good. I don’t think I quite meet the standards set by the Ministry. The Auror life isn’t for me, as much as I wish it was.” He turned to walk into the Manor’s compound.

 

“Are you _kidding_ me?” Draco exclaimed as he followed behind Harry, who was now striding briskly down the halls. Who had planted all these ideas in Harry’s head? “You’re bloody brilliant at is it what you are!” Draco hadn’t given anyone such a straightforward compliment in ages – just uttering the sentence felt foreign.

 

Draco nearly walked right into Harry as the Gryffindor stopped suddenly, spinning around to quirk an eyebrow. “Who are you and what have you done with Draco Malfoy?” he questioned, a bemused tone in his voice.

 

“I’m a firm believer in using one’s potential to the fullest,” Draco replied. “And I find that you aren’t, and I must express a slight displeasure at that. Besides, you’ll need something to be good at, seeing as there’s nothing else that you appear to be particularly gifted at.”

 

“There you are,” Harry snorted, turning and continuing to pace. “I was beginning to get a little worried.”

 

Draco rolled his eyes. “Harry, I’m not kidding,” he snapped, as they came to a halt outside Harry’s room. “You’re good at what you do.”

 

Harry turned briefly to cast a genuine smile at Draco over his shoulder, and for a second, Draco got a little lost from being at the receiving end of it. “Thanks, Draco. You’re not half-bad yourself.” He opened the door and walked into his room, and seeing as he didn’t close it behind him, Draco decided to stride in after him.

 

“Of course not, Potter. I’m leagues above you,” he drawled.

 

Harry rolled his eyes and drew his wand.

 

“What are you doing?” Draco asked.

 

“The Ministry has asked me to vacate the premises,” Harry said. “That’s what I meant when I told you that Kingsley said my services were no longer required. It’s Ministry-speak for ‘get lost’.” He snorted, waved his wand around easily, and clothes and possessions zoomed out of nondescript areas of the room and into his unzipped trunk, piling up in slightly messy columns.

 

“When you’re done showing off, perhaps you would care to explain why you’re leaving on such short notice. It isn’t as if it’s against the law to stay an extra night at a companion’s house,” Draco protested.

 

Harry sighed. “Draco, don’t you get it? You’re completely safe now. The guy who wanted to kill you is in custody. You’re _safe_.”

 

“Look, I _know_ that, alright? I heard you the first ten times,” Draco hissed. How was he supposed to tell Harry that he didn’t want him around because he was _paranoid_ , but because he enjoyed Harry’s company?

 

“Then what is it?” Harry asked, sounding a trifle annoyed now. “If you aren’t concerned about your safety, then why do you want me around?”

 

Draco sighed, sitting down on Harry’s bed, burying his face in his hands. “I just...I like having you around, alright?”

 

There was a significant pause, and Draco was afraid that Harry’d left the room, or gotten so freaked out that he’d just Disapparated back home, but then he felt a light pressure on his left wrist, and his hand was pulled away from his face. He glanced up, and found himself staring directly into Harry’s emerald green eyes.

 

In an instant, Harry averted his gaze, gesturing instead to the scratches lined up along Draco’s arm. “Haven’t you at least bothered to heal some of the cuts you’ve gotten from that rosebush?”

 

“I forgot,” Draco said lamely, once more losing his eloquence at being so close to Harry.

 

Harry smiled soothingly, gently running his wand along his inner forearm, murmuring silent spells. The small wounds closed up and healed almost instantly. He halted when he came upon the Dark Mark, then slowly moved on.

 

“Does it...disgust you?” Draco asked, and his inquiry sounded more fearful than he’d meant it to.

 

“It’s part of who you are,” Harry replied simply. “I could never find something like that disgusting. It’s almost beautiful, if you think about it.”

 

Draco felt his heart swell a little more, and he gently reached out, using the back of his hand to brush away the part of Harry’s hair that covered his lightning bolt scar. Harry tensed, but didn’t pull away as Draco ran a finger over it. “Like this one,” he murmured.

 

For the next few seconds, everything was a bit of a blur for Draco. One second he was focused mainly on Harry’s expressive eyes, and the next, Harry’s lips were pressed against in his own.

 

Draco’s eyes widened as Harry slowly attempted to deepen the kiss. His heart was beating faster than he thought was humanly possible, and the feelings coursing through his veins were incredible. He knew this was wrong, very wrong, but it felt so _right_ that he couldn’t stop himself, and he closed his eyes, tangled his fingers in Harry’s dark, messy hair, and returned the kiss.

 

Their lips danced, moving in perfect coordination, but Harry tentatively licked Draco’s bottom lip, and Draco’s grey eyes snapped back open as he realized fully what they were doing. In one movement, he pulled away and fluidly pushed Harry away from him.

 

“Potter,” Draco hissed urgently, trying to force him away as Harry leaned in again. He knew that if Harry kissed him one more time, he wouldn’t be able to resist anymore. “Potter, no. We can’t do this. This is wrong.”

 

“Why not?” Harry demanded, his jade eyes alight with passion and fury. “What the fuck is so wrong with this? I want you, and I _know_ you want me.” Angrily, he glared at Draco. “Why can’t it just be simple?” He reached out again, and Draco panicked, ducking away.

 

“Because it isn’t! I…Potter.” Draco backed away as Harry tried to touch him again. “ _Harry_!”

 

Harry stopped what he was doing, his arm falling limply to his side.

 

“Harry, please,” Draco sighed as Harry, looking hurt, slowly stood up. “You have to understand. It’s for your own good.”

 

“How can you say that –”

 

“Stop, Harry. Back off, walk away,” Draco said firmly, standing up too. “I fuck everything up, all the time. I’m going to push you away, I’m going to end up hurting you like Adrian did. Don’t you get that?”

 

“No, no you’re not,” Harry insisted. There was that little glimmer of hope that Draco could see in his gaze – it was the romantic in Harry, the one who believed in love and fate and all those silly little things. Draco hated to be the one to let him down.

 

“Harry, please. I beg of you – don’t enter my life,” Draco whispered. “Don’t even try. It’s fucked up, and you deserve better.”

 

Harry stared at Draco a moment longer, then bent down to pick up his trunk. Draco felt his eyes sting with unwanted tears, and he blinked them away.

 

When he reopened his eyes, Harry was gone.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

After ambling aimlessly around Muggle London for a few hours, Harry showed up, his face morose and his clothes a mess, at Ron and Hermione’s doorstep.

 

“Bloody hell, mate,” Ron gaped. “You look awful.”

 

Hermione whacked at Ron’s shoulder reproachfully and hurriedly ushered Harry in, a worried look that uncannily resembled Molly Weasley’s fixed on her face. Harry had never come to them like this before – even after Adrian, he had been strangely and almost unnervingly calm. This was the first time in ages they had seen him in such a state.

 

“What’s the matter, Harry?” Hermione asked, setting him down on the sofa.

 

“I…” Harry tried to speak, but all that came out was a shallow croak.

 

“I’ll go make some tea,” Hermione said quickly, scurrying off into the kitchen.

 

Ron sat carefully down next to him, putting a hand on his shoulder. “What’s wrong?” he asked, concern colouring his voice. “Is it because you brought Adrian in?”

 

Harry made a questioning noise in his throat.

 

“The entire Ministry’s buzzing with it, mate,” Ron elaborated. “Everyone’s got ants in their pants to see their poster boy back in action.”

 

Harry groaned and his face fell forwards into his hands.

 

“Oh for – Ron, I leave you alone with him for _one second_ –” Hermione snapped as she came back into the room, balancing a tray in her hands. “Ugh, never mind. Here, Harry, drink some of this.”

 

Harry took a cup in his hands, but his fingers shook so violently that he nearly spilled the liquid onto the floor. Ron steadied his arms hastily, waiting until he had calmed himself down enough to take a drink before releasing him.

 

“A few deep breaths,” Ron cautioned. “Then tell us what happened.”

 

“I…I…” Harry struggled to get the words out right, but they were jumbling up on his tongue. He really needed to work on expressing himself. He tried to figure out the right way to tell them about what had happened, in a way that wouldn’t completely freak them out. “I kissed Draco.”

 

Well. That didn’t come out quite as expected.

 

“You… _what_?” Ron gaped, his mouth hanging open in a way that Harry would have found comical if he hadn’t been in such a state of dismay.

 

Hermione was staring at him in a state of semi-shock, her mouth opening and closing uncertainly.

 

Ron was still reacting a little intensely to the news. “Blimey, Harry! I mean, I know you like the dark types, but… _Malfoy_?”

 

Hermione sat down on Harry’s other side. “But…why are you upset about it?”

 

Harry let out a pained sound. “He…”

 

“He rejected you?” Ron guessed tactlessly.

 

“ _Ronald_!” Hermione admonished. “What he means to say, Harry, is does Malfoy have…different interests?”

 

“No,” Harry murmured. “He likes me, too.”

 

“Then what’s the bloody matter?” Ron questioned, flabbergasted.

 

Harry found it rather flattering that Ron seemed not to care that Harry had kissed Draco anymore and was more shocked by the fact that Harry was upset that the feeling was mutual. “I…I don’t know, to be honest,” he sighed. “Maybe he thought I was just going to be another one of his many affairs we keep reading about. He told me that he would just fuck it all up or hurt me or whatever, and that I deserved better.”

 

Hermione’s confused expression cleared up instantly. “Oh,” she said unceremoniously.

 

“Really, Hermione, that’s helpful,” Ron rebuked.

 

Hermione ignored her husband-to-be. “Harry, he must really like you.”

 

“Are you _kidding_?” Harry moaned. “If he does, then why is he making it so difficult?”

 

“Because, Harry, he’s _afraid_ ,” Hermione said kindly.

 

“Afraid?” Harry looked up. He hadn’t thought of that.

 

“He hasn’t had an actual relationship in years,” Hermione explained patiently. “He’s gone on flings, never able to fully commit to anyone. The idea of the responsibility that comes with a relationship probably terrifies him, and he wants one with you, which scares him out of his mind.”

 

Harry was watching his friend in wonderment, and Ron was staring incredulously.

 

“ _Now_ you’re the expert on _boys_ too?” he accused.

 

Hermione snorted. “All of them except you two. I’ll never understand either of you.”

 

Harry allowed himself to find the statement amusing, permitting a small laugh to fight its way past his parched lips. He took another swig of tea when he felt the uncontrollable, sudden urge to cry.

 

There was a brief, loaded silence. Harry felt empty inside, but at the same time so full of words that it was inevitable that they all came spilling out before he could stop them.

 

“This isn’t fair,” Harry whimpered, causing Hermione to grasp one of his hands comfortingly as Ron took his cup from him and set the tea down on the table. “I’ve made so many mistakes – distancing myself from the Wizarding World, quitting Auror training, falling for Adrian and all his bullshit –”

 

Although neither of his companions said anything, Harry could practically feel the interest burning off of both of them at his mention of Adrian. They were desperate to learn more, but that was alright, because at this rate, Harry wouldn’t be able to stop talking even if he wanted to.

 

“Adrian hurt me really badly,” Harry confessed miserably, “And it wasn’t even because I loved him or liked him all that much. He’d say things about me, tell me I looked bad in something, criticize my cooking, laugh at my ambitions. He wasn’t just _mean_ , you know. He was more than that.”

 

There was a look of horror on Ron’s face, and Hermione’s hand had flown up to cover her mouth.

 

“And then there’s Draco, who tells me I look good in green, and that I’d make a brilliant Auror, and I’m just so _confused_ because I know he wants me as much as I want to be with him,” Harry said, his voice rising in direct proportion to his frustration. “And when I decided I wanted to make a move on him, it was the first decision I’d made in a _long time_ without getting someone else’s permission first, and the fact that it went all haywire doesn’t feel good at all.”

 

A little more silence before Ron reacted first – again. “Bloody hell. Harry, we had no idea.”

 

“Harry, I...I don’t know what to say,” Hermione whispered.

 

“For once,” Ron added under his breath.

 

Hermione paid him no heed. “Harry, I think you should tell him all of this. Make him realize that this is as real for you as it is for him.”

 

Harry nodded, slowly and unsteadily standing up. “I think I –”

 

“Not now,” Hermione added hastily. “Harry, you’re a complete mess. You need a meal, a change of clothes and a good night’s sleep.”

 

Harry groaned but nodded. He knew they were right. He collapsed back onto the sofa, and, just this once, allowed his best friends to take care of him.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Harry tossed and turned on the sofa. The fabric felt too cold beneath his feverish skin, the blanket too warm over the cold sweat tainting his flesh. Any brief relief he got from the thoughts that ran repeatedly through his head came in troubled sleep, where his ponderings transformed into disturbing dreams, each one involving Draco in one way or another.

 

Finally giving up, Harry prised his eyes open and sat up, trying not to think about Draco at all, but that was proving to be rather difficult to do.

 

And then there was a knock at the door.

 

Harry sprang to his feet, drawing his wand by way of reflex. It was nearly one o’clock in the morning – hardly the time for visitors. He made his way, slowly, towards the door, and saw Ron inching out of the hallway, wand also held at the ready. He gave Harry a minute nod, and Harry unlatched the door with a quick, silent _Alohomora_ and Ron tugged at the knob, swinging the open quickly.

 

Harry immediately lowered his wand when he saw who was at the door. “Vanessa?” he exclaimed. Of all the people he might discover at his best friend’s door at this time of night, it was definitely Draco’s PA who he considered least likely.

 

Vanessa looked extremely shaken, her brown eyes nearly completely clouded over with something that resembled terror. Her slim frame was shivering notably, and her hands were trembling so badly that she had to grip the doorframe to stop from completely falling apart.

 

“Who’s this?” Ron asked, suspicion tinting his tone. That meant that Ron didn’t even know Vanessa, so why would she turn up at this house in the middle of the night...?

 

“It took me forever to track you down,” Vanessa rasped, wringing her hands nervously. “I was so scared...I think I might be too late...”

 

“Harry, _who is she_?” Ron demanded.

 

“It’s Draco’s personal assistant. She’s a witch,” Harry assured him. “Vanessa, why don’t you tell me exactly what’s happened?”

 

“You have the wrong man!” Vanessa screamed, covering her face with her hands.

 

“Calm down,” Harry objected feebly, just as Hermione came dashing out of the bedroom, a bathrobe tied securely around her body and her wand also drawn. She pocketed it quickly when she saw Vanessa nearly sobbing at the door.

 

She shot Harry an inquisitive look before ushering Vanessa in. “Whatever’s the matter, dear? Perhaps you need some tea –”

 

“No, you don’t understand!” Vanessa groaned. “The man Harry arrested _isn’t_ the man who’s been threatening Draco, and now that he knows Harry’s not with him anymore he’ll be free to attack Draco and I’ve tried to reach him but he isn’t answering his mobile _or_ the Floo and –”

 

“Woah, woah, slow down,” Harry exclaimed, kneeling down in front of her as she collapsed onto a chair. His heart was racing significantly at the mention of Draco, and it was difficult to fully understand what she was saying. “Deep breaths. Come on, breathe with me.” When Vanessa seemed to have regained some form of control over herself, he said, “Tell me what’s happened, from the beginning.”

 

“It isn’t Adrian who’s been threatening Draco,” Vanessa said quietly, her voice unsteady. “I thought it might’ve been, but I’ve still been getting phone calls, and –”

 

“Phone calls? Hang on, Adrian’s been calling you?” Ron questioned, instantly on edge.

 

“I...I don’t know. Someone called me up the day Draco and I arrived in England,” Vanessa whispered. “The voice was slightly warped, like a bad Concealing charm had been placed on it, but I could tell it was a male. He...he threatened to kill my family if I told anyone and I...” Tears started to flow from her eyes. “He made me help him to transport packages safely to Draco, to make sure he got them in one piece, and he’d ask me for information about Draco so that he could send stuff that would really freak him out!” Vanessa wailed. “He made me swear to never tell anyone, and he blackmailed me by sending me snapshots of my family back in America...I have a baby sister back home, and my parents...” She trailed off, her voice slowly becoming consumed by sobs.

 

“Who, Vanessa?” Harry asked, his question coming out slightly rougher than he’d meant it to as he was suddenly consumed by panic that Draco was still in danger. “Who blackmailed you?”

 

“I don’t know,” she said miserably. “He wouldn’t say. When you caught Adrian I thought my worries were over – I thought that was him. But then after you brought him in I got another call and –” She threw her arms down on the table, folded them and buried her face in them.

 

“And what?” Harry demanded, his blood running cold when he realized that Draco was completely alone.

 

“And he said he’d find Draco, and he’d get rid of him once and for all, and I’ve been trying and trying to contact Draco but he won’t answer and I had no choice but to come to you and if I’m found out, my family –”

 

“What information did this guy want from you?” Harry questioned further. There was nothing he could do until he knew who was behind this, and at the moment he couldn’t think of anyone who would want to harm Draco and was obsessive enough to do it this way.

 

“He asked me where the set was, what times Draco would be in his dressing room, what book he was reading…everything he needed to terrify him into believing that he was being watched,” Vanessa replied. “He kept talking about how Draco took something away from him, and he wanted revenge, and he was going to get it no matter what I hid from him.”

 

 _Still sounds like Adrian to me._ “So you knew that Draco was afraid of fire?” Harry asked. How was it that Draco had confided in Vanessa about something he was so afraid of talking about?

 

Vanessa looked puzzled. “Afraid of fire?” she asked. “Oh, is that why the packages always had a form of fire in them?  He said he wasn’t good at Concealing charms, so he’d ask me to cast them on the boxes so Draco wouldn’t be able to detect what was inside. I always knew what was in the packages.”

 

Harry’s eyes went wide. “You mean you didn’t –” He broke off abruptly.

 

Then it all made sense. It clicked into place. This person wasn’t skilled at magic, but he was good at creating fire, as the Death Eaters had taught during Defense Against The Dark Arts when they took over Hogwarts. There was the only other person who knew about Draco’s phobia of fire, and that person had lost his best friend in the Room of Requirement during the battle of Hogwarts.

 

 “Goyle,” Harry whispered.

 

“Pardon?” Ron asked quizzically.

 

“Goyle,” Harry said a little louder. “Gregory Goyle. He’s the one who’s after Draco. He’s the only one who knows that Draco hates fire. He wants revenge for the death of Crabbe. It’s him. I can’t _believe_ I didn’t see it before.” Harry had never felt so dumb in his entire life.

 

Ron leapt into action immediately. “I’m calling the Ministry,” he announced. “I’ll have a trace sent out on Goyle.”

 

“Ron, wait,” Hermione cut in, speaking for the first time since Vanessa’s arrival into their home. “They’re going to ask a lot of questions. You know the Ministry still has its prejudice against former Death Eaters. As far as they’re concerned, the case has been solved.”

 

“I’ll call for back-up,” Ron said decidedly. “I know some people who trust me and will join me, but it might take a while.”

 

“I’m going ahead,” Harry said. Ron and Hermione turned to stare at him as if he was crazy, and he added quickly, “No, no, listen! I can hardly go marching into the Ministry now – my credibility is practically non-existent at the moment. Ron will be able to convince a few people to come along, but if I wait for that, it might be too late and Draco…” Harry was too scared to finish that sentence.

 

This time, it was Hermione who reacted first. In a mad rush, she dashed across the room and threw her arms around his neck, knocking the wind out of him. “Oh, Harry, please be careful!” she exclaimed.

 

“I will,” Harry smiled feebly, although he wasn’t so sure if he would be. All his past attempts at being careful had hardly resulted in him escaping unscathed, but he knew that it didn’t matter now, because he would do pretty much anything for Draco.

 

Ugh. Draco was right. He _had_ become an intolerable sap.

 

Harry cast Ron, Hermione and Vanessa one last glance, and then he Disapparated.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Draco slowly opened his eyes. The room swam before him, a fairly recognizable one that his brain was incapable of registering, and his head felt awful. He felt bile rise in his throat as he fought against the dizziness to get his bearings. He twitched his limbs, testing them, and realized that his hands were bound behind his back, and he was tied to a chair. He struggled feebly, trying to remember how he’d gotten there, and had a short flash of memory involving a dull force of a spell being fired at his back while he was reading before everything went blank.

 

It was probably a sign of Draco’s lack of sanity that his first thought was, _Well, this is something out of a corny movie setting._

 

“Good, you’re awake,” someone said, and Draco forced his brain to attempt to place the familiar voice, but his mind refused to respond. “We really need to have this chat.”

 

“What…” Draco tried to ask a question, but his voice came out all slurred, and he clamped his mouth shut again.

 

There was a dark chuckle. “Oh, poor Drake. For once in your life, you’re at a loss for words. I never thought I’d live to see the day.” A short pause, and Draco’s vision slowly cleared up – he was in someone’s storeroom, and he recognized it very plainly now, except he still couldn’t think whose it belonged to.

 

“I plan to light this entire place on fire, just so you know,” the voice said threateningly. “It’s a pity I didn’t have time to look for Potter, otherwise I would have let you watch him die. Maybe then you’d understand how I felt that day.”

 

Draco’s head shot up so jerkily that it hurt. The voice finally registered with his awakening mind. “Greg,” he groaned. “What are you doing?”

 

Gregory stepped into view in front of him, smirking. “What I’ve wanted to do for the longest time.”

 

“What the fuck?” Against his better judgement, rage was taking over Draco’s logic. He knew that if he wanted to get out of this alive, he’d have to be as compliant as possible, but he was suddenly overwhelmed by the feeling of betrayal. Greg was one of the last real friends he had. It simply wasn’t fair, it wasn’t fair at all. “Greg, _let me go_. I haven’t done anything wrong to you!”

 

Greg’s grin widened. “Really? Bossing me around in Hogwarts? Dragging me along to your fucking catch-Harry-Potter expedition? Letting Vince die in a fire?”

 

“That wasn’t my fault!” Draco snapped. “He set them damn place on fire himself! I would’ve saved him if I could. Look, I’m sorry we lost him that day, but you can’t seriously still be holding onto the past now!”

 

“You _aren’t_ sorry!” Greg shouted, nearly knocking Draco backwards with the sheer volume of his voice. “You didn’t even _care_ about him!”

 

“Of course I did, I just –”

 

Draco didn’t get to finish his sentence as Greg suddenly swung his arm forward, his fist landing squarely on Draco’s face. He gasped in pain, but before he could fully recover, he was hit again. He could feel a warm, sticky liquid beginning to flow from his nose, and the metallic, unpleasant taste of blood began to flood his tongue. He shouted for help, begging for anyone to just _hear_ him, but blows were raining down on him painfully, and his vision began to swim again.

 

Finally, they ceased, and Greg stepped away. Draco’s eye felt awfully puffy.

 

“Don’t lie to me,” Greg panted, and Draco had an arrogant thought – until today, Greg was still unable to hold back from his basic instincts. Draco knew that Greg hadn’t planned on losing control of his anger and physically assaulting him, and despite the pained numbness surrounding his possibly damaged face, Draco couldn’t help feeling a little smug. He wasn’t the same coward he was before. He could take a little torture.

 

“You’re a disgrace to our kind,” Greg hissed. “Giving up the Wizard life to live like a _Muggle_.” He chuckled harshly. “In respect to that, I’ve decided to do this the Muggle way, too.”

 

Draco didn’t understand, and it showed in his expression.

 

“Smell that?” Greg asked, gesturing vaguely around the room. “That’s the smell of petrol, Drake. I’ve drenched the fucking room in it, and the chair you’re sitting on.” He fished something out of his pocket. “This is a lighter.”

 

Draco’s eyes widened. “Greg, you wouldn’t…”

 

“I would,” he smirked. “Oh, I can’t wait for this, Draco. I’ve wanted to do this for _so long_ , but you were in America.”

 

“Greg, I’m really, really sorry about Vince, but think about what you’re doing for a second!” Draco begged. He hated sounding so pitiful, but there wasn’t really much else that he could do. “This isn’t going to bring him back.”

 

“But it’ll make you understand the fright that crossed his mind,” Greg replied, his voice tinted with pure fury. “It’s too bad you don’t have a nice pet bodyguard to look after –”

 

“Back away, Goyle.”

 

Draco looked up, his jaw dropping, as Harry stepped into the room easily, wand held out and at the ready. If this moment had been captured on camera, it would be exactly like one of those corny-arse scenes in an action film. There was nothing that could get any stranger than this.

 

Greg looked honestly shocked as he spun towards Harry, grasping his wand quickly and aiming it at Harry, who disarmed him wordlessly. Greg’s wand flew into his free hand, and he smiled, a challenge in the subtle turn of his wrist. In response, Greg flicked on the lighter. The blue flame danced tauntingly over it, and Draco whimpered in pure fright. Harry cast one glance his way, then turned back to Greg with an expression of determination in his green eyes.

 

“One wrong move, Potter, and I drop this right on Draco’s head,” Greg hissed. “If anything in this room catches fire, he’s as good as dead, and you wouldn’t want that, would you? Now, give me back my wand.”

 

Draco could see Harry making calculations in his head, trying to decide the best way to go about this. Where the fuck were the Aurors? Why in Salazar’s name was Harry _alone_?

 

“I said _give me my wand_ , Potter,” Greg said, the lighter getting dangerously close to Draco’s hair. Draco shrank away from it, his eyes squeezing shut tightly. This was too close for comfort.

 

“Fine,” Harry said, and Draco reopened his eyes just in time to see Harry throw Greg’s wand across the room – in the wrong direction.

 

Several things happened at once then, and Draco might have to spend the rest of his life unravelling them and trying to fully figure them out in proper sequence. All he knew was that Greg made a lunge for the wand, and Harry used the distraction to cast a well-aimed _Diffindo_ on the ropes binding Draco. Draco got up unsteadily, about to make a run for the door when Greg dropped the lighter onto the floor, and everything went up in flames.

 

“Get out!” Harry yelled, but Draco couldn’t see the door anymore as it became completely enveloped in embers.

 

 _Stay strong_ , Draco told himself. _These are normal flames_.

 

There were shouts and spells being cast in the background in both Greg and Harry’s voices, but Draco didn’t have time to turn to look at them. “ _Aguamenti_!” he shouted, successfully extinguishing a path to the door, but the fire was spreading fast, and Draco had no time to step over the fire or even try to make it to the door before his path was blocked again, and flames were starting to catch on his jeans –

 

And then there was an arm grasping him, and Draco only had a moment to recognize Auror robes before he was Apparated out of the room.

 

Draco landed unsteadily on the floor, taking a moment to right himself, but his eyes were completely wide with frantic worry. “Harry…he’s still in there!” Draco yelled at the Auror who had rescued him, but there was no need for his panic, as a split second later, Ron Weasley emerged beside them, holding tightly onto Harry, and another Auror appeared with an unconscious Greg weighing him down.

 

“Harry,” Draco gasped, running to him.

 

The man smiled up at him briefly from the floor, looking exhausted and in some form of pain. “Draco. I’m so glad you’re okay.”

 

Draco pulled him into a tight embrace, but stopped almost immediately when he felt something wet on his skin, and looked down to see his own hand nearly completely coated in blood. He backed away and stared in horror at Harry’s shirt, which was completely soaked in scarlet.

 

“He’s hurt!” Draco shouted. “Someone get help!”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Harry Potter guessed that the best time to contemplate the decisions you’ve made in life is when you’re lying on a hospital bed after escaping a near-death experience to save the man you possibly love. Yes, that sounded just about right.

 

It had been relatively easy to patch up his wounds and heal them till they were nothing but unsightly scars. In fact, he was going to be discharged the next morning, something which he found highly unnecessary as he was no longer in any physical pain and his cuts were all so properly closed that they would probably never reopen again.

 

The media had been abuzz with news revolving around the Golden’s Boys rise from the ashes and his “incredible courage in rescuing an ex-Death Eater”, which Harry knew was just basically his recklessness and sheer dumb luck working out for him again. Did this mean his career as a poster boy was being revived? Because honestly, he didn’t really want that. Kingsley had already visited his bedside, and that conversation had been anything but pleasant. Harry had now decided to pretend to be asleep to avoid talking to anyone else who wasn’t a friend.

 

Draco hadn’t visited him yet, which bothered him tremendously, but he knew that Draco was getting healed, too, and probably wasn’t allowed to leave his hospital room.

 

Slowly, Harry let his eyes fall closed. It wouldn’t do any good to think of Draco now, not at this extremely stressful point in his life. He would just worry about that later.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

It might have been a few minutes, an hour, or half a day later when Harry suddenly became aware that someone was talking to him. He must have dozed off. Afraid that the person visiting him might be some reporter or Ministry official, he kept his eyes shut and focused instead on the words being said.

 

“…irrational, but I’ve just been so worried about you. Everyone keeps telling me you’re alright and you’ll be let out tomorrow, but the thought of you just…not being around sort of terrifies me. I mean, as I keep saying, you’re my bodyguard. You’re supposed to keep me safe, and how can you do that if you leave me behind here?”

 

Harry’s heart rate instantly sped up when he recognized Draco’s voice, and the fact that Draco was talking to him _right now_. He wanted to leap up and grab Draco and never let go, but something told him to continue to feign sleep, so he did.

 

Draco’s disembodied voice let out a half-sigh. “I don’t even know what I’m saying, and Salazar knows you can’t even hear me, but I need to get this off my chest or I think I’ll explode. I…”

 

A long pause, and Harry waited semi-patiently, heartbeat unsteady and eyes still closed, for what it was Draco wanted to say.

 

“Oh, Merlin, how do I say this?” Draco groaned. “We both know that I’m eloquent. And I’m, by all means, far better with words than you.” Harry had to work very hard to hold back a snort at that, but he managed to, and Draco continued talking without noticing. “And yet, I’ve struggled to find the words to say to you for hours upon hours, and I’m forced to draw the conclusion that no combination of any of the available twenty-six letters can accurately capture and convey even a tiny fraction of what I’m feeling. And that’s because I think I’ve found something that no words can possibly describe. I don’t know what it is, and I don’t know what’s happening to me.” Draco paused to draw breath, and Harry’s pulse had gone up so high that he was surprised the nurse’s surveillance charms hadn’t gone off yet.

 

Harry felt Draco gently take his hand, and he nearly exploded with emotions. Luckily, he managed to reign himself in as Draco went on, “Before, I always used to think you must be perfect – you know, everyone’s Golden Boy and shite like that – and I wanted you for that. But now, I can see you’re far from the ideal role model, and I can see all those imperfections, but somehow, they’ve made me want you even more.”

 

 _And I want you too,_ Harry wanted to say as Draco paused again.

 

 “When I...almost lost you, I can honestly say that I never felt more torn,” Draco resumed. “It was like I was dying inside. It’s not like I missed you, it was as if _you_ were missing from _me_. And I know, I _know_ I sound like those damned shitty novels you read, and don’t get me wrong, they’re all still bullocks. But now I know, see? Now I know why people write love songs.”

 

And then Harry couldn’t take it a second longer. He opened his eyes, turned towards Draco’s face, which now conveyed shock and was completely flushed from the realization that Harry had heard every word, and pulled him down, bringing their lips crashing together in a fantastic rush of lightning. A surprised sound escaped Draco’s mouth, muffled by the kiss, and then his fingers were tangling themselves in Harry’s hair and he was kissing Harry back. In a moment of déjà vu, Harry tentatively licked at Draco’s lips, and this time, the Slytherin didn’t pull away, instead opening his mouth. Harry let out a low groan which Draco echoed – this sent shivers down Harry’s spine as he took the liberty of exploring Draco’s mouth, licking over the backs of his teeth and gently twining his tongue with Draco’s. Draco took this as an opportunity to suck on Harry’s tongue, eliciting a moan from the Gryffindor.

 

Harry wasn’t sure how it happened, but he found himself in a sitting position, unbuttoning Draco’s shirt with as much care as he could in his haste (he knew how much Draco valued his clothes) and sliding it off his lithe, pale arms, then proceeding to kiss and lick a trail down Draco’s throat. Draco moaned loudly, reaching around do undo Harry’s attire, which, laughably, was a hospital gown. Despite the odd setting, Harry had to admit that it had been a long time since he was this turned on, and if the tented state of Draco’s jeans was anything to go by, he wasn’t the only one who was enjoying this.

 

Once the troublesome gown was divested of, Harry was in nothing but his boxers, and Draco palmed Harry’s rather obvious bulge through the fabric. Harry groaned, arching up into the touch, then leaning down abruptly to take one of Draco’s nipples in his mouth, swirling his tongue around it until he had the satisfaction of hearing Draco mewl in pleasure. Harry tried to undo Draco’s jeans, but that was a bit difficult seeing as they were seated on a bed and were far too entangled to stand, so he let out a frustrated hiss and simply vanished it wandlessly. Draco chuckled, muttering something about impatience, but Harry shut him up by slipping his hand into Draco’s underwear and gripping his erection in his palm, running a thumb over the slit. Draco bucked upwards, nearly losing his balance, and he roughly pushed Harry down onto the bed.

 

Luckily, they had both done this before, and they intuitively knew what had to be done. Draco practically ripped Harry’s boxers off, then smirked teasingly up at him. The sight of those silver eyes glinting mischievously was almost enough to send Harry over the edge. “Draco,” he whispered throatily, and he noticed a considerable darkening of Draco’s eyes, which nearly sent him spiralling out of control again.

 

Draco smirked sexily, then flicked out his tongue and licked at Harry’s shaft from bottom to top. “Fuck,” Harry hissed, entangling his fingers in Draco’s hair. Draco gave him a disapproving look, but didn’t complain, instead pressing open mouthed kisses to Harry’s inner thighs, leaving him nearly melting with want. “Draco, please,” he begged.

 

Draco took pity on him, leaned down and took Harry into his mouth. Harry groaned, arching his back as Draco took him nearly to the back of his throat. “Fuck,” he swore again, and if Draco found his lack of eloquence appalling before, he must have found it absolutely horrific now, but to the contrary, Draco made an appreciative humming noise in the back of his throat that caused Harry to practically shout, teetering precariously on edge. He gently pulled Draco off of him, not wanting to climax too quickly and ruin it all. “I want you,” Harry confessed, but before he could say anything else, Draco had pulled him back into a kiss, and Harry swore he would have spontaneously combusted from passion. Or maybe that was just the trashy romance novels talking.

 

Draco gently cradled the side of Harry’s face as he broke the kiss, and without thinking, Harry drew two of the blond’s fingers into his mouth, twining his tongue around them, and Draco let out a strangled, half-taken aback groan. “I want to ride you,” he whispered into Harry’s ear, and Harry was hurriedly updating his mental list of the hottest things he had ever heard as he nodded his consent.

 

Draco shimmied easily out of his boxer-briefs and straddled Harry, who made to get up, but was instantly pushed back down. “Lie back and relax, Potter,” Draco drawled. “Enjoy the show.” Harry was trying to figure out what he had in mind when Draco leaned backwards on his left arm and prodded at his own entrance with saliva-slicked fingers. Harry’s jaw dropped and his brain shut down completely as he watched Draco enter himself with said appendages, showing all of himself to Harry, and then losing himself in pleasure as he angled his fingers a certain way. His moans echoed loudly across the white room, and Harry couldn’t keep his eyes off the sight before him – he didn’t even want to blink. He didn’t think it was possible for him to get any more turned on, but he was.

 

Then Draco moaned, “Harry,” and the Gryffindor couldn’t take this torture anymore. Grabbing Draco by his arms, he pulled the man on top of him and kissed him, reaching down to cup his delicious arse. Draco smirked into the kiss, reached beneath him and taking hold of Harry’s erection, muttering a wandless charm that Harry recognized as one of the most used ones in the gay Wizarding community, and slowly guiding Harry into him.

 

As soon as Harry felt himself breach that tight ring of muscles, he let out an embarrassing sound of pleasure. Draco gave him a coy smile, then closed his eyes, his mouth falling open as Harry penetrated the tight heat. Draco slid down further, letting out incredibly erotic noises as Harry was fully sheathed within him. Harry struggled not to simply start thrusting, instead allowing Draco to set the rhythm, which started off torturously slow. Harry whimpered as Draco captured his lips in a searing kiss, and he thrust his hips upwards to meet Draco halfway. The Slytherin’s breath caught in his throat and a throaty cry escaped his mouth, a noise which was quickly swallowed by Harry’s tongue and teeth.

 

“Is that all you’ve got?” Draco whispered, and Harry took the challenge to heart, speeding up the movement of his hips, and loving every single wanton sound that fell from Draco’s lips. He knew they wouldn’t last long – both had been wanting this for a fortnight, and Harry hadn’t been intimate with another person in months. Not wanting to reach his finish before Draco, he began experimenting with different angles, angling his thrusts until…

 

“Oh!” Draco cried out, his head falling forward onto Harry’s chest, and Harry knew he had found his mark. Harry’s movements became erratic as he continually battered Draco’s sweet spot until Draco could do nothing but moan wantonly, throwing his head back, and frankly, Harry had never seen anything quite so beautiful.

 

Harry felt a familiar tightening sensation gathering at the base of his cock, and he reached out and wrapped his hand around Draco’s, pumping it in time with his thrusts. That was, apparently, all it took, as Draco unravelled above him, practically screaming his name as he came, and Harry quickly decided that this was something he wanted to happen again and again. That was the last rational thought he had as his vision became obscured by stars and he came with a cry of Draco’s name.

 

The two lay, panting, for a moment as they slowly began to regain their breath, Draco snuggled into Harry’s chest, and Harry with his arms wrapped around him.

 

“I’ve been an idiot,” Draco sighed at last.

 

“I must be hearing things,” Harry grinned, gently stroking Draco’s hair. “A Malfoy just stepped off his high horse.”

 

Draco gave a contented hum – Harry supposed that he liked having his hair played with. “Don’t get used to it. It’s not going to become a habit,” he drawled.

 

Harry laughed, then paused. “Do you realize how quiet it is all of a sudden?”

 

Draco stopped, fell silent for a moment, and listened. Harry knew he was hearing the same thing – there had been a constant buzz of conversation outside the door for the past few hours, consisting of journalists and well-wishers alike. Now, there was complete and utter silence.

 

“Err, Harry,” Draco began, “You didn’t happen to cast any Silencing charms, did you?”

 

“Nope. Never been very good at them,” Harry admitted. “You?”

 

“I was a little busy getting the best shag of my life,” Draco drawled.

 

Harry sighed. “We’re in so much trouble,” he muttered.

 

“Look on the bright side,” Draco grinned. “You won’t be the Ministry’s poster boy anymore.”

 

“We’d better get dressed before someone gets the good sense to check on us,” Harry said with a small smile.

 

“Oh, I don’t know, Potter,” Draco replied teasingly. “I wouldn’t mind being found like this.”

 

“I didn’t know you were into voyeurism,” Harry laughed. “We don’t have time for that kink now, but we’ll look into that later. That’s a promise.”

 

Draco smiled, a real one, and Harry’s heart began beating a little faster again. “I’ll hold you to that.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

_One year later…_

 

Harry didn’t have much time to react before he was thrown against the bathroom stall wall, soft, hot lips pressing insistently against his own.

 

“You’d better fuck me good, Potter,” Draco hissed against his mouth as he unbuttoned Harry’s pants with nimble, well-practised fingers.

 

“You bet I will,” Harry replied as he did the same to Draco’s. “I just wish I knew what the fuck brought this on.”

 

“You know _exactly_ what you did, Potter, don’t play dumb,” Draco shot back, biting down on Harry’s neck. “Now get on with it!” he added, squeezing Harry’s crotch.

 

Harry groaned, knowing there would be a highly visible purple bruise on his flesh when they were done, and the thought of everyone seeing it turned him on more than it probably should have. Draco’s voyeuristic tendencies had probably rubbed off on him. And of course, he knew _exactly_ what he had done to provoke Draco to this level – all it had taken was a bit of lip-biting, provocative eating (although it was difficult to look sexy while eating spaghetti, he had somehow managed it), and suggestive touches. They were currently at the third event they arrived together at publically and as a couple, the first one being Ron and Hermione’s wedding a couple months prior, and the second being the premiere of Out Of The Fire. Something told Harry that this was probably the worst event they could have possibly chosen to fuck during, but hey, he wasn’t complaining.

 

On the bright side, Harry had learned a lot over the past year or so. He had apologized to and forgiven Adrian, and the two remained sort-of friends. He had learned how to deal with Draco, having experienced the full blow of his anger and frustration when he and his mother finally had that argument they had been needing to have for months. Most importantly, he had learned everything he had originally wanted to about Draco, and the hunger hadn’t died down in the slightest – he still yearned to know more.

 

They hadn’t talked about that letter Draco had sent Harry right after the war yet, but Harry knew they would soon enough, and that whatever they were going to go through, they would go through together.

 

Oh, and he had become very good at Silencing charms, so there was no chance of anyone hearing questionable noises from their bathroom stall.

 

Harry cried out as Draco fisted him roughly, and responded by cupping his arse, waiting for Draco to wrap his legs around Harry’s waist, then carrying him and slamming him into the opposite wall. In a single, fluid moment, he thrust into Draco, causing the taller man to cry out in what could only be described as pure ecstasy. He knew Draco’s body perfectly by now, and was able to repeatedly scrape over his prostate with little effort, reducing his lover to a writhing, mewling mess.

 

There passionate, rushed sessions of love-making never lasted long. Before Harry knew it, Draco arched his back and came all over his and Harry’s shirts, clenching over Harry and drawing Harry’s orgasm from him. Harry climaxed with a loud cry, and Draco carefully set himself down on the floor, holding Harry through it and using his hand to pump his cock until he was spent.

 

They both paused to recover, just as they heard someone’s voice calling out to them.

 

“Harry, mate? I know you and Draco are in here. Merlin, couldn’t your sex drive wait until later?”

 

Harry and Draco chuckled, buttoning up their pants as Ron sighed.

 

“Crowd’s asking for you, Harry,” Ron said at last. “I’d hurry up if I were you, and remove all traces of evidence.” The sound of footsteps, then the bathroom door opened and slammed shut.

 

Harry cast a quick _Scourgify_ over both of them, double checking their shirts to make sure they looked clean enough, and Draco helped Harry to fix his tie, smirking when he saw that the collar wasn’t high enough to cover the hickey he had left there. Harry gave him a warning look, and they both made sure the other looked presentable before exiting the stall.

 

Harry held the door open, waiting for Draco to walk through. “Ladies first,” he joked.

 

“Shut up,” Draco said, trying to sound cross and failing ultimately.

 

The crowd was buzzing with excitement at the Annual Wizarding Ball, but everyone spun to stare at Harry and Draco as they entered the hall, holding hands. There were several disapproving looks, a few neutral faces, but enough smiling expressions for Harry to feel a little uplifted.

 

Draco sighed. “I don’t know why you put up with me,” he said truthfully, and Harry turned to him when he detected that familiar self-doubting tone that came up once in a while, and Harry understood that. They could never agree on anything at all, but that was fine, because they were crazy for each other, and frankly, Harry had never been so happy in his entire life.

Smiling, Harry squeezed Draco’s hand protectively and reassuringly in his. “I’m supposed to keep you safe, remember?” he said with a grin. “How can I do that if I don’t stick around?”

 

Draco snorted, but Harry could see that he was trying very hard not to smile. “Intolerable, sappy Gryffindor.”

 

“Insufferable, high-maintenance Slytherin,” Harry replied without missing a beat.

 

“Hopeless, romantic idiot.”

 

“Arrogant, self-righteous prick.”

 

Draco finally gave in and laughed, and Harry smiled as he updated his list of most beautiful things in the world. And for once in his entire life, everything was just as it was supposed to be.

 

_Finite_

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